


The Winters Of My Future

by Evilyoyo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alive Starks (ASoIaF), All Arya ships are in the past and there will not be any in the current timeline, Arya going west was not a great idea, At least at this current time, Characters Added When They Appear, Gen, If someone has different names I'm using the show one, Killing the Night King did jack shit, Kinda, Mix of Show and Book Canon, No sexy time, Show ages for the most part, Since she's ELEVEN, Time Travel, most characters listed are minor parts unless they are Starks, relationships will be added when relevant, tagged as mature because of people are going to get killed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2020-06-09 18:21:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 36,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19481446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evilyoyo/pseuds/Evilyoyo
Summary: They had thought killing the Night King would stop the Long Night and the White Walkers but they were wrong. They'd been tricked and too many had paid the price. Unable to win against them Arya has to go back fix it. Seeing as she's only good at murdering people she isn't sure how well that will go.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I love me some Peggy Sue fic in my life and after that last season ??? I needed me some fix-it fic. I noticed that Peggy sue fics are pretty popular in this fandom but it's always Sansa like 9/10. Robb has a couple and so does Jon. I thought Arya would be cool because she can't do what she does best-- murder everyone in slight. Plus she doesn't know a lot of what went down since she was wandering around for most of it.

No one would call Eddard Stark a joyful man. He may have an unwavering honor and sense of justice, but his smiles were rare, and many had told him that he had cold, judgmental eyes reflecting his frozen northern heart. 

Cat had told him soon after Sansa was born that while she’d never been afraid of him, she’d worried about loving him. He’d been so proper and stiff at their wedding that he came off cold. It had been seeing him with a newborn Sansa that she’d known that they would love each other. Any man that looked at his children with such love in his eyes couldn’t be utterly joyless. Now she loves to tease him about his sweet heart beneath his solemn face.

He did love his children even if they, the pack of wolves that they were, drove him to madness at times. He and Cat had gotten lucky at first, Robb and Jon were wonderful boys. When Ned and his brother were young they had gotten in more trouble then Robb ever did, and even Cat had to agree that Jon was well behaved. Sansa was sweet as could be, helping her lady mother as best she could when she could. 

It had been Arya that had thrown them. Wild from the moment she came into this world with no signs of calming down anytime soon. She followed the boys around almost none stop since she’d turned four, watching them train in the courtyard when she was supposed to be with her Septa. He’d caught her stealing bits of armor here and there, helms most often. He’d feared that Bran and Rickon would grow wild like her, but thankfully none of his children gave him as much trouble as her. His wife brought her by the ear to him at least once a week for fighting with Sansa or getting caught with a sword. 

It seemed like today was one such day. 

He looked his youngest daughter over as she stood before him in his solar. Arya was glaring at the ground, no shame on her dirt covered face at all, her dress was covered in something foul enough that he could smell it from where he sat at his desk. Her shoes were somehow worse. 

Catelyn stood behind her, lips pressed and eyes narrowed. “Well?” She said after a tense moment. “Are you going to tell your father what you did or shall I?” 

Arya let out a small huff, and his wife glared at his slight twitch of a smile. She lifted her head and squared her shoulders. “I put goat shit in Sansa’s bed,” she said with satisfaction. “She was mean, so I wanted to give her a lesson.” 

So that was what that smell was. “Arya,” he sighed. “You know better than to do such things.” 

His daughter may have his looks, but the scowl that was now on her face was utterly his wife’s. “She called me horse-face!” 

Catelyn softens just a tad.“Then you should have told Septa Mordane.” 

“Septa Mordane doesn’t care,” Arya crossed her arms and huffed again. “She just tells Sansa is that ladies shouldn’t make such comments, but then Jeyne says it for her and Sansa laughs.” 

He shared a look with his wife, and after a moment, she gives him a small nod. “Your mother will talk to your sister about her behavior. But you are still to be punished,” he adds when Arya’s smile turns a little smug. 

Arya frowns but then nods, “I know Father.” 

“You’re to clean Sansa’s bed as best possible and have no sweets ...or that training that Theon has been giving you for the bow, for a week.” 

Gray eyes widened. “ You know about that?” 

“I’m Lord of Winterfell. Now go on,” he nodded to the door. “You best get going if you want to eat supper with us.” 

Catelyn sighed after Arya left. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with that one, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a girl wilder.” 

Ned chuckled, “Aye that one has the wolf’s blood in her all right.” 

“I think Sansa’s going to have to be ladylike for them both,” Cat said with a small frown. She clasped her hands in front of herself and hesitated for a moment. “I worry that her wildness won’t lessen as she grows older.” 

“She’s young-” 

His wife shook her head, “I was once a young girl myself, and I knew plenty of girls that said for years that they didn’t want husbands or be ladies but Arya….” 

“What would you have me do?” Ned asked as he leaned back in his chair. “I can’t bring an end to her happiness, and we both know her training with bows and learning to ride makes her happy, besides it’s different here than in the south. A good Northern man won’t look down on Arya for that.” 

“This isn’t just Arya’s love for everything unladylike. You haven't seen her speak of husbands as I have. If she spoke of hating the idea of getting married, I would not worry as much. Children often say such things. But Arya has no interest at all, hate or love, and that …. I fear that more.” 

“She’s young still,” Ned repeated, but the worry started to creep up in him. 

“And so I may be wrong,” Catelyn sighed again, “But still I worry.” 

He stood and walked over to her. “You wouldn’t be her mother if you didn’t worry over her.” He pressed a kiss on her cheek. 

“Thank the seven none of our other children are as wild as she is.” Cat laughed, “ I don’t think I could handle another of her.” 

Ned laughed as well. “The others combined don’t cause as much trouble.” 

“Speaking of, I must go speak to Sansa before dinner,” Cat frowned. Sansa was such a sweet girl, but she and Arya had always fought so. “Arya shouldn’t have taken the punishment into her own hands, but I won’t have the two of them escalating their bickering to such levels.” 

He sat alone in his solar once she was gone pondering over what she said. Surly Arya would start wanting a husband soon, didn’t all girls wish for such things? All Sansa seemed to want was a pretty knight or a charming lord. Enough that he was worried she would fall into some power-hungry man’s arms if he only wooed her a little. She loved the songs and stories of love from the south, had made it clear just how much she wanted to live there.

Arya hadn’t ever seemed to want any of that, the stories she loved were of war, and while she also loved knights, it was because she wanted to be one not love one. Lyanna had been the same way when she’d been young, and it wasn’t just in looks that Arya reminded him so much of her. Their father had said she had the wolves blood as well, but she had agreed to marry Robert. Then again would she had told him if she didn’t want too? Father had been such a stern man that if she hadn’t wanted to marry, she would have never told him so. 

Had that pushed her into Rhaegar’s arms? 

Ned clenched his hands, feeling his teeth grind together. “What is past is done,” he muttered to himself. 

He started to make his way downstairs since dinner would be served soon. If Arya never wanted to marry, then he wouldn’t make her, he decided. If only so, he didn’t push her into the arms of someone worse. There was no point in worrying about it now, not when she so young still. 

The hall seemed empty; only two tables were needed to fit those that took their dinner here. At one table sat those in his household. He nodded at Maester Luwin and Vayon and noted that Vayon's daughter Jeyne looked rather upset. He wondered if Catelyn had spoken to her or if Vayon had. 

His family was already seated at the other. Robb, Jon, and Theon were huddled together laughing, no doubt about something that happened during their training today. Rickon was talking to Cat about his day as his wife tried to make sure he didn’t make an enormous mess for the servants to clean up. Sansa looked irritated as she glared down at her food, ignoring Bran as he tried to speak to her.

“Where is Arya?” He asked as he sat down. 

“She should be down soon,” Catelyn said. “I believe she was just finishing up when I left her.” 

Bran tried to hide his laughter, but Sansa heard him anyway. “It’s not funny!” she snapped. She turned to her mother, “Tell him it’s not funny!” 

“It’s a little funny,” Bran pointed out. “Though I don’t think it was worth it. Arya is going to smell awful for days.” 

“I hate you and Arya both,” Sansa growled. “You are the worst!” 

“Bran leave your sister alone and Sansa I’ve told you not to say things like that to your siblings,” Catelyn gave them both a stern look,“ I expect my children to not misbehave during dinner, am I understood?” 

“Yes, mother,” they muttered. 

“Thank you.” She frowned and looked over to Ned, “Though Arya is taking longer than I thought she would.” 

“Maybe she skipped dinner so she wouldn’t get in a fight with Sansa again?” said Bran. 

“Maybe…. Though I don’t think she’d fight again so soon since your father took away her bow training.” She raised an eyebrow at Theon. “That we never gave her.” 

Theon paled a little and looked with wide-eyes at Ned. “S-Sorry my Lord. She was very persistent was all.” 

Ned nodded, “Aye that I know. ” He looked at Cat with a small smile, “I’m not sure where she gets it from.” 

It was a credit to her training as a lady that his wife didn’t roll her eyes at him. “ I think we know who is more-” 

She was cut off by the loud bang of a door as it was slammed open by one of his guardsmen. His face was deathly pale, and he was carrying something in his arms, wrapped with his cloak. “A Maester! I need the Maester!” he yelled to the shocked hall. 

“Over here!” Luwin called out as he stood, Vayon started to clear the plates and food from the table.

As the man rushed over to Luwin, Ned spotted some blood on his armor. “Get the children to their rooms,” he told Catelyn. She had already picked up Rickon and was turning Bran by the shoulder towards the door. 

The guardsmen turned to Ned when he heard his voice, as he carefully sat his bundle onto the table in front of Luwin. Maester Luwin was too good a Maester to be shocked, but even he froze for a moment before he turned to Vayon beside him. “Go get the Dreamwine from my rooms quickly!” 

“Please forgive me, my lord.” The guardsmen’s voice shook, and there looked to be tears in his eyes. “I tried to bring her as fast as I could.” He moved away from the table, and his head turned down. Ned now had a clear line of sight as he walked over but froze in his steps when he realized what, or rather who had been wrapped in the cloak. 

Arya lay there, blood covering her blank face and the front of her dress. Her gray eyes were open, but even from across the hall, he could tell they were unseeing and blank. For a moment he was back in that blasted tower again. His sister that he hadn’t seen in so long covered in blood. She’d been crying when she’d seen him as he tried his best to calm her. Lyanna’s scared face still haunted his dreams, and now he knew Arya’s blank one would as well. 

There was a gasp behind him, and then he heard Catelyn cry out as if in pain. She ran past him, but he grabbed her before she could reach their daughter. “Let me go!” she screamed, tears already falling down her face. 

He pulled her to his chest and held her tightly; he wasn’t sure how much that was for her or him. The gods knew he wanted to rush over as well. “ Luwin needs to see to her.” Out the corner of his eye, he sees Robb ushering out his siblings, all of them pale at the sight of their sister. Not for the first time, he was thankful that his eldest knew what was needed of him.

Luwin was carefully looking into Arya’s eyes, checking her face for injuries. He pressed his hand on her chest, and Ned was relieved to see that Arya was at least breathing. “What was she doing when you found her?” Luwin asked as he started to wipe away the blood that had covered her ears. 

“S-shaking on the floor sir,” the guardsmen told him. “I’d found her alone in the hall. She was talking a bit, but it was all nonsense…. I thought she had been playing some game before I saw the-the blood then I rushed her here as soon as I could, I swear it!” 

Ned felt ice climb his spine, fear unlike what he’d ever felt creeping up in his mind. The last child he’d seen shaking uncontrollably and start speaking nonsense never recovered. As Catelyn sobbed in his arms, he could only send a prayer to the gods that Arya, his little wildling girl, didn’t end up like poor Wylis.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this and the first chapter as one but I hate switching POV in the middle of a chapter so I just decided to post them almost right after one another.

Family, Duty, Honor

Those were her family words, and though she was now Stark, she’d never forgotten them. Catelyn had always put her family first, Tully then Stark. Her children drove her to the brink of madness at times, but she loved them more than the breath in her chest, and she would do anything for them. Her husband loved their children as well that she had no doubt, but he was a battle-hardened man and had hardened his heart long before his children were born. He hid his worries over the children and let her speak them aloud instead. 

She could see it, of course, they had been married long enough now and loved each other enough that she could see the deep worry over Arya. The last time he’d been this worried over one of them was when Jon had been gravely ill when he’d been younger. 

Catelyn couldn’t shake off the fear that the seven were punishing her daughter for her mother’s broken promise to love a motherless boy from years ago.

Arya had now been sleeping for two days. Maester Luwin had given her some dreamwine to help her sleep and to ease any pain that she may have been in. Her heart had broken into pieces at that, that her daughter could be in enough pain that dreamwine was needed. They had no idea if Arya would have the shakes again when she woke because Luwin hadn’t been able to figure out what happened to her, whether it was illness or even poison. 

The shaking was worrying; he had told them with such sad eyes. Older men were known to fall into them as well, but most times after the shaking, their minds were never the same. Catelyn had yelled at him then. She wasn’t proud of it, but as a mother, she couldn’t listen to such things. That Arya, her headstrong and reckless Arya, may never wake? Or if she did her mind could be a waste? 

She’d asked about Hodor when she first came to Winterfell all those years ago. Ned had told her, with rare pity in his eyes, that one day he dropped to the ground shaking and screaming and when he woke, his mind had been gone. He was a simple man now but sweet, and Old Nan so was beloved here that they let him man the stables. 

Her hands continued to weave the prayer wheel, which she had started that morning. Would that be her fate? Catelyn wondered as she watched Arya’s crest slowly rise. Would that be worse than death for her? Or would it be seeing the pity in their eyes when she was such a little proud thing?

“....Mountain.” 

Catelyn’s head snapped up, she sat her work down and held her breath. Arya’s eyes were still closed, but instead of the blank face of sleep that had been there before, there was a frown and a furrow in her brow. 

“….the Freys,” Arya’s voice was a low whisper. 

“Arya,” she whispered as she took hold of her daughter's hand. “It’s me, open your eyes,” Catelyn observed, her heart beating hard in her chest as Arya’s eyes moved behind their lids. 

“....Valar Morghulis,” her daughter didn’t seem to hear her. 

That wasn’t the Common Tongue at all; it sounded to her like Valyrian. Where had Arya learned it? Maester Luwin had begun to teach them a little of the languages but Arya, who hated anything that involved reading, had cared less for those studies than any of her others. 

“….of Winterfell.” Unlike the low whisper, she’d been speaking with before that had come out with a weak snarl. 

“Do you hear me ?” Catelyn asked as she squeezed Arya’s hand. “I’m right here with you.” 

The door opened, but she didn’t turn to look, too focused on Arya’s face. Her furrowed brow was gone now, and Catelyn’s heart dropped at the sight of her blank face once again. 

“There’s been no change?” Ned asked softly. 

“She spoke,” Catelyn matched his low tone. “Just nonsense words and she didn’t open her eyes.” 

Her husband pulled a chair over to the other side of Arya’s bed and sat down. “Luwin says she should wake soon.”

“He still has no idea what could have caused it?” 

Ned shook his head, “No. He’s sent a raven to Oldtown asking for more advice, but he says there’s not much he thinks can be done. It’s up to the gods how much she recovers.” 

“But there’s hope then? That she’ll be fine?” 

“He’s uncertain-” 

“What good is a Maester if he can not give me answers to my daughter’s health?” She felt tears build in her eyes again and how many tears had fallen since she’d seen her daughter laying on that table with her face covered with blood, she didn’t know. 

“Cat….” Her husband didn’t know how to comfort her, but his apparent want too was a small comfort helped. “I pray that she wakes and is unharmed ... but we must prepare ourselves if she isn’t.”  
“No.” The glare she sent him was harder than almost any other she’d ever sent him. “I will not hear it.” 

“You must.” He sighed then, looking so much older. “I know you fear it as much as I do. I won’t send her away if the worse comes to be. She’s a Stark of Winterfell, and we take care of our own.” 

Catelyn looked away. “I know that.” She had never doubted that. Had never suspected that Ned could care for all his children no matter what happened to them. Had he not brought his son here even though it insulted his wife? Hadn’t he made sure his bastard lived just as well as their own son no matter her raving? 

Ned said nothing. Maybe he knew where her thoughts had gone. 

There was a soft knock on the door then. Cat ignored whoever it was, surely it wasn’t as crucial as Arya, but Ned stood and opened it. She heard the rough voice of Ser Rodrik and knew that her husband was needed somewhere and that he would no doubt go. 

“What is it ?” She asked as she let go of Arya’s hand to continue on her prayer wheel. “Where is the Lord of Winterfell needed?” 

Ned didn’t deny it. “A deserter of the Night's Watch has been found, and I must see to his execution.” 

“Now?” 

“Yes.” He walked over to place a kiss on Arya’s forehead. “I’ll be taking Bran along.” 

Her hands paused their work. “He’s only ten.” 

“He can’t be a boy forever.” He hesitated for a moment before he walked over to her as well and kneeled. “ Winter is coming, and I have to prepare him and the others as much as possible.” He pressed a kiss on her cheek. “I will be back soon.” 

She said nothing as he left. The hours passed slowly for her; the only sounds besides her and Arya’s beath was the sound of her weaving the prayer wheel. Even if the wheel didn’t work and the gods ignored her at least, it helped with the waiting. 

Arya spoke more but never opened her eyes. She never spoke entirely, just words here and there. Cat couldn’t make sense of anything she said but kept track of them away. ‘No One’ and ‘Hound’ was repeated more than most. The names of her siblings as well, mostly Sansa and Jon. 

The sun was setting when there was another knock on the door. Again she ignored it. It opened anyway, but instead of Ned, it was Robb holding two grey pups.

That was enough to pause her work. “What are those?” 

Robb smiled as he sat one of the pups down on the end of Arya’s bed. It smelled her and walked with unsteady legs to lay at Arya’s hand, and from there, it nuzzled under her hand. 

“We found them in the woods on our way back,” Robb told her. “The mother was dead, but there were enough pups for each of us, so Father told us that we could keep them.” 

“Wolf pups?” What in the world was Ned thinking? He’d never agreed to let the children have pets before, not even when Robb had begged for one when he was small. 

“Direwolf pups.” Robb sat down, the pup in his arms seemed content enough to be held in his arms. “I picked that one for Arya. She bit Theon right on the nose on the ride back.” 

She couldn’t help the small smile, “That does sound like Arya.” 

“Bran did well today; Father said you were worried.” 

“He’s young. Too young, in my opinion, but you know your father.” Cat looked at her prayer wheel now that it was completely done. She wondered if she should make another. 

“Well, he can’t-“ 

Robb cut himself off when Arya shook her head with a soft sigh.“It must be done,” she said. 

“She’s awake?” He asked, excitedly. The pup in his arms wagged its tail. 

“She’s been speaking in her sleep, but that's the first full sentence….” She tried to keep a hold on her hope. So far, no matter how much she spoke, Arya hadn’t woken.

“I see,” Robb frowned. “At least when she wakes she’ll have a present. Even Sansa was excited, and you know how much she dislikes animals.” 

“Sansa?” Arya sounded confused, and her eyes only opened a crack. The pup at her hand wiggled closer. 

“Arya?” She grabbed her daughter's other hand. “Are you awake?” 

“I’ll go get the Maester,” Robb told her as he quickly left the room. 

“Sansa?” Arya asked again. She was trying to sit up but was failing, and her eyes were cloudy and unfocused. “How are you here?”   
“Your sister isn’t here,” Catelyn told her quietly. “But she visited you this morning. Are you in any pain?” 

Aryra looked confused before she blinked. “Mother?” 

“Yes-” 

Her daughter lounged forward, quicker than Cat had been expecting. Arya had never been a hugger, unlike her sister, who had always wanted to be held. Still, she hugged Cat tight. Catelyn held on just as, relief that Arya seemed unharmed flow through her body. 

“You had me so worried, dear daughter,” she muttered into her hair as she placed a kiss on her crown. “I’m so glad you are alright and well.” 

“Me too,” Arya said. She didn’t pull away for a long moment. As she pulled away to sit on the edge of the bed, the dire wolf pup nipped at her hands. “Oh,” she gasped in delight. 

“It’s yours,” Catelyn told her. She may not be too excited about the beasts but seeing the bright smile on her daughter’s face after she’d been so still for days made up for it. “Robb picked that one out for you.” 

“Nymeria.” Arya grinned at the pup, scratching behind its ears. “Her name’s Nymeria.” 

Of course, her daughter would name it after the warrior queen Nymeria of Dorne. “If that's what you wish…. Do you feel alright? Luwin told us that you might not be back on your feet for some time.” 

Arya didn’t answer as the door opened, Luwin and Ned looked uneasy but happy. 

“Thank the gods.” Ned walked quickly to pulled Arya hug, one that Arya returned with one just as relieved as his. It seemed somewhat strange that Arya would seem so relieved to see them, but she was a child after all, and perhaps her illness had scared her. 

Luwin stood off to the side, but she noted that he looked relieved as well. She’d have to find some way of making up for her yelling at him, though she knew he’d never blame her. He’d helped their family so much for so long after all. 

“My lord,” He said after father and daughter parted. “I must see to your daughter, and I believe you need to speak with your wife?” 

“Now? She has only now awakened!” 

Ned nodded. “I will be back after Luwin sees to you.” He told Arya as he pressed a kiss to her hair. 

Arya said nothing, her eyes filled with tears but a smile on her face.“I understand, father.” 

Ned looked at Catelyn before he tilted his head towards the door. She glared but nodded, when the door to Arya’s room shut she hissed, “ What could be so important-” 

The last time Ned had looked at her like that, it had been because he had to go to war again. “Jon Arryn is dead, and Robert is now riding for Winterfell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In almost all of the peggy sue fic I've read and it's not just the ones from GOT, the person that goes back is fine? always completely fine physically. I thought it would make more sense for the whole thing to be a bit more painful than just waking up from a dream. 
> 
> As always pls comment! I'd love to hear your thoughts!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this a bit earlier than I thought because I blew out a tire and had to take a day off :p 
> 
> Note about years, I'm going with the shows roughly a year per season because I think it paces a bitter better. I also think it's funny that it means Arya and the Hound take forever to get anywhere lol

**Year Three Hundred Eleven After the Conquest, Year Seven of Winter.**

It was midday, but the sky was darkened by the thick smoke coming from across the lake enough that it seemed almost night. Arya sat on the wet sand, exhausted by the fight early this morning and lack of meaningful sleep for days. Even from here, she could see the flames. She didn’t remember Moat Cailin sending such large flames into the sky and then wondered if Winterfell had when Sansa had it burned to take out as many of the White Walkers and their undead as possible. She wished her brother was still alive; they could have held the siege longer if they had Jon.

“Daughter of The Stark,” said an unknown voice behind her. He was very old, this strange man. He wore crudely made fur and no shoes, his feet blackened by dirt. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

Arya laughed and laughed because, of course, he had. After everything that had happened to her, why wouldn’t a strange man know that she was going to wash up on this beach? “Have you?” She stood, bones aching and a dozen little cuts reopening as she did. Her boots were soaked, and the cut above her eye made seeing difficult. The overcoat around her shoulders was too large and dragged on the ground. “Why not, it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? There’s nothing to be done.”

“There is but only you can be the one to do it, Daughter of The Stark.” He held out his hand, which was withered and worn from daily work. “Come.”

* * *

**Year Two Hundred Ninety-Eight After the Conquest, Year Ten of Summer.**

Arya’s first memory was of playing in the snow.

She’d been very young. There’d been summer snow in Winterfell, and her mother hadn’t wanted Bran, then only just able to run without falling every two steps, out in the cold. Sansa had, of course, stayed inside with their mother as she always wanted to be by her side. Arya had run outside with the boys as soon as she’d been given the permission.

The games they played that day had long faded, though she could probably guess what they were. It was the feeling of snow and ice in her hands and the joy of running from her brothers after she’d managed to hit them that stuck in her mind. It was the smile on her father’s face as he walked by and the warm fire her mother had lit for them when the sun had set, that reminded all these long years later.

It had also been Theon’s first time in a real snowfall, not any of that freezing rain than sometimes fell during the summers on Pyke. He’d been with them for almost a year at that point, and it was after this day, after playing all day in the snow with Robb, Jon and herself that he’d stopped running every time someone came by him. It didn’t take long after that for her to think of him as a sort of older brother. She’d never been as close to him as Jon or Bran, but she’d also hadn’t been that close to Robb either.

It was memories like that, the memories of things that had long past, that had been unforgiving since she’d awakened here, but it had been the memories of things not yet done that had her mind spinning. Her siblings, gods above, her siblings were children.  
If something weren’t done Robb would be King of the North in a little over a year.

It had been two days since she woke up with her dead mother at her side and Nymeria a small pup in her arms. She’d almost burst when her father had walked through that door. Try as she might to not, but she’d forgotten a little of her parent's faces. Her mother had merged a little with Sansa and her father with Jon.

So many things not yet done. So much death she had been placed in charge of stopping, but when had she ever been the stopper of death? The White Walkers would not march for a few years now, but she hadn’t an idea on how to stop them completely. Even if she somehow managed to bring together the realm in time to put up a real defense, they had no way of stopping them forever.

Sansa and Winterfell had learned the hard way that killing the Night King would not stop the Long Night.

Once again, Arya wished her sister was here. Not the foolish little girl that has been on her best behavior since she awoke but the woman that had been crowned the Queen of the North. Sansa would know how to start preparing, know who the big players in Kings Landing were, and how to get what she wanted from them.

Had Jon been here he’d have known what to do; he had been there from the start with the White Walkers after all. He’d told her parts of it during the planning for the Battle for Dawn, but he’d been so busy with Sansa and the northern lords or his queen to speak with her long. When they met again after the fall of Winterfell, she’d been too bitter to talk with him about anything other than strategy.

Winter was coming, and she didn’t know what to defend against first. The realm was on the edge of war, and the endless night was only a few years away. Still yet, how much does she place on either? Daenerys had gone mad with her dragon in King's Landing, but how long could they defend against the White Walkers without her and her army? What about the Lannisters or the Boltons, should she ignore what they had done because getting rid of them would lose the power they needed in the fight to come?

She didn’t know enough.

“Are you…. alright, my lady?” asked a nervous Jeyne.

Arya didn’t jump in surprise, while her mind had wondered her body had been aware of the presence of Sansa, Jeyne and Septa Mordane in the room with her. She was supposed to be working on her needlework through the Septa hadn’t been pushing her like Arya had remembered her doing once. The conversion that had been passing between the three of them would have been tiresome to her at age eleven, but it had hurt to hear of Sansa’s dream to meet the prince, and so she’d ignored them.

Oh yes, there was Joffrey. Could she kill him? He wasn’t like Tywin or Littlefinger, someone who could bring something to the table if he didn’t backstab everyone on his way there. Joffrey was a useless, cruel boy who had never done anything useful in his entire life. The world would be better if it lost him.

“I’m just a little tired is all,” Arya answered. “I didn’t mean for my mind to wonder like that.”

“Having you been drinking the tea that Maester Luwin gave you?” Septa Mordane asked as if she knew Arya hadn’t.

Which to be fair, she hadn’t. While once her body had been immune to poisons and potions of all kinds thanks to her training, here and now it would have made her mind foggy. Even if she’d been fine being in such a state, there’d be no telling what she’d say or do like that. Luwin had only given her dreamwine that first night and the tea was rather weak, but she’d take no chances.

“Yes Septa, I drink it all just like he told me.” She injected childish defensiveness into her voice.

Septa Mordane didn’t look like she believed her but then she’d been with them for years and knew Arya better than that by now. “Maybe you should lay down for a while? I’m sure your mother wouldn't mind a break in your studies while you recover.”

Arya nodded in easy agreement. She sat down her work, which was awful and even worse than what she used to do because she hadn’t done needlework in years now.

“I hope you feel better,” muttered Sansa as Arya walked out the door.

“Thank you, Sansa.”

Like so many things in her childhood Arya had forgotten just how much she and Sansa didn’t get along when they were children. Not that Sansa had tried to make fun of her since she awoke here, her sister and her friends had been on their best behavior. They actually avoided her for the most part, although her mother had said Sansa visited once or twice while she’d been sleeping.

Arya could see why they did. Young Arya and Sansa had argued quite severely just before she’d taken over after all. Sansa was no doubt feeling guilty about being mean to her just before she’d been deathly ill. She let the distance be. In truth, it hurt to see Sansa’s hope of marriage to Joffrey or any other knight when she’d seen how well being a bride had gone for Sansa.

Another for her new list. After all, Ramsey was just a bastard son right now, and his father wouldn’t be too upset about losing him. They wouldn’t need Ramsey and his father both.

Once Sansa had said that she’d been glad for Littlefinger and the rest because they had made her into the person she’d become. Her sister may be or will be at least, the smartest person she’d ever known, but in Arya’s opinion, there must be more ways to get there besides be tortured for years.

This was part of the problem she was having here, and her family wasn’t the family she’d come to know. Arya had only seen Jon and Bran in the last five years, and Jon had grown so much since he’d been 16. She hadn’t seen her mother or Robb for over a decade and her father for almost as long; while she wanted to say she knew them… she didn’t. Not truly. Once they had all said they knew their father and then they found out that he’d been hiding something from all of them. From even their mother.

The King wouldn’t be here for a couple of weeks. That would have to be enough time to watch her family to re-learn them and then try to change things in King’s Landing. If her father wasn’t killed the war of the five kings wouldn’t happen and that alone would mean more soldiers for the Long Night.

If she could keep her father alive, he could finally come clean about Jon as well. Or would that make the whole Daenerys thing worse when she finally comes from Essos?

She decided not to go to her room; it reminded her all too vividly of the things she’d lost, so she spent little time in it. Instead, she took up her usual place on the walkway above the training courtyard. There were a dozen or so men training today, Robb and Jon among them, and Arya noted that Ser Rodrik was good at his job. She had always thought so of course but when she was a child she’d based it on being familiar with the man, and now it was because she’d seen his replacement do a much worse job.

Nymeria sat beside her, quiet and watchful as she’d been since Arya had woken. That was different than before. From what she remembered from the few months she had her, Nymeria had been wild like her owner. Training her had been hard even if she had never snapped on anyone like Shaggydog had been known too. Now she stayed a half foot behind Arya like she was a trained war hound.

She pondered on why this was as she watched Ser Rodrik correct a man’s stance below.

The Stark children were connected to their dire wolves; she knew that. After all, had Lady not been as sweet as Sansa and Ghost as gloomy as Jon? Arya herself had dreams of running through the woods on four paws after Nymeria had been sent away, dreams that had never stopped no matter how far west she had sailed. Arya wondered for a moment if Nymeria remembered her old life in the Riverlands where she had been leading a pack that killed any man trying to hunt her.

No, she decided. If that Nymeria had been forced along, there was no doubt that she’d be trying to attack every man in slight, pup teeth or no. Nymeria must be picking up on Arya’s difference here. No matter how much Arya pretended, she wasn’t the wild thing of her memories after all. Can’t hide that from something she somewhat shared minds with.

“What's with the long face ?” Theon asked as he leaned over the railing next to her. “ You should be happy; Lord Stark said you could train with the bow again in a couple of days.”

Arya decided to tell a little bit of the truth. “I don’t want to train with a bow anymore; I want a sword.”

  
“I don’t think Lady Stark would care for that,” Theon smirked.

Until she’d come back, she hadn’t been able to see Yara in her old memories of Theon. The broken man that asked to die for her family had none of the energy or charisma the Queen of Pyke did. But while his bravado was completely fake, it reminded her of Yara the few times they had been able to relax during the march south and the sieges. The Grayjoys shared the same smirk and smile.

“She’s been busy with the news the King is coming.”

“You don’t seem too excited. I thought you would be since he was a great warrior in his youth. You like that sort of thing. ”

Arya couldn’t help a snort, “The King isn’t a warrior now. A child with a butter knife could take him in a fight.”

“Why, Arya Stark are you bad mouthing the King ?” Theon laughed. “What would your mother said about that?”

“She’s not going to say anything because you aren’t going to tell her.” Arya glared up at him. “....besides everyone been talking about it. Well, that and the fact that the Lannisters are coming.”

“I’ve never seen a dwarf before, I’ve heard he is a right monster to look at.”

“I don’t think he’ll be that impressive. Just a short man with a big head.” Tyrion hadn’t looked anything like a monster even when he had the scars from the Battle of Blackwater. She’d been disappointed the first time around too.

“Scared to train with us, Theon?” shouted Robb from down below.

“I thought I’d give you a break from me beating you into the ground is all!” Theon yelled back. “Are you done play fighting with Snow?” He patted her on the head as a goodbye.

Theon and Robb continue to bicker as Theon grabbed equipment to spare. She watched him closely, but he didn’t look like the weak man that caved to his father’s demands. There wasn’t a hint of the Theon Grayjoy that killed two children by fire in his eyes or his laugh.

Jon made his way toward her, little Ghost behind him. Jon looked like her father, or rather, he looked like his mother. If she squinted a little, she could maybe make out some of the Targaryen, but it was hard. Jon was fortunate that he looked so much like a Stark, even with the knowledge that he was half Targaryen she could barely see it in his face.

“Should you not be resting?” He asked her. “Luwin told father that you should take it slow.”

“I’m not fighting, am I?” Arya raised her eyebrows. “I’m just sitting here.”

“That almost has me worried more because you never listen to Luwin,” Jon laughed.

Arya shrugged, “I can listen sometimes.”

“Aye, very rarely.”

She rolled her eyes, “Don’t you have to train still? It looked like you needed more. Lots more.”

Jon laughed again, “So that’s how it is, huh?” He sat down on the walkway with her, though he had to bend his head, so he didn’t hit it on the rail.

She wanted to apologize to him, for holding things he could do nothing about against him. Almost a year she wasted on being bitter with him because she didn’t want to admit she felt guilty about leaving Winterfell. He’d taken her punishment willingly and almost gladly which was worse than if he’d been angry. Now even if she apologizes, he won't understand what it meant.

“Are you sure you are alright?” Jon asked. He’d always been a bit of mother hen. Always worrying. “No one would think you weak if you need a rest.”

“Does everyone want me to be locked away in my room?” she groaned. “ Everyone keeps asking me if I want to rest and I haven't even done anything. I’m fine!”

Jon frowned and for a moment she saw the man that would have been King of the North. “Everyone saw that guardsman bring you into the hall, little sister. They saw you pale and blood covered, and that's not something that's forgotten easily. I’m sure the only reason Lady Stark is letting you up and about is that she’s worried you’d do something worse if she didn’t.”

Arya sighed but nodded. “I am fine, though.”

Jon didn’t look convinced. “You’ve-” He hesitated but continued, “You’ve been ...different since you’ve woken. Quite.”

“Have I?”

“You’ve been nicer to Sansa and -”

“She’s been nice too! She thinks it’s her fault-”

“-you have refused to see Bran as well.”

Arya felt her mouth click shut. She had been avoiding Bran, hadn’t she? Once she’d been able to fool everyone around her, emotions hidden from everyone, her face was a blank slate. It had taken years to train herself to be like that, and this body wasn’t used to it. She was more than aware of it and knew that she would have to work on it, same of her swordplay.

There had been no choice in the matter; she didn’t know if she could control herself if she’d been around him alone. Just seeing him at the table while eating had sparked her anger. Even though he was so different from Bran the Broken, her anger over what he’d done overruled it.

Arya did not forgive easy, never had. Betrayal from those that she’d seen as family was even worse. She had to see Theon twisted, broken, and then dead for her to forgive him for what he did. In truth, she may have written him off entirely in this new life too if it hadn’t been for Yara.

“I just haven't wanted to see him is all,” she said as she hopped up. “I better go, mother wanted to see me this afternoon.” Nymeria followed close after her.

* * *

**Year Three Hundred Eleven After the Conquest, Year Seven of Winter.**

Red leaves crushed under her heel as she followed the Old Man. He’d said nothing since he found her on the beach and had her follow him. The woods around her were quiet, and they had walked far enough in that she couldn’t see the flames anymore through the smoke still hung in the air and made her eyes sting. She had to remind herself not to use the overclock she wore to wipe her eyes as it probably hadn’t gotten washed in weeks.

“Here we are,” he said. He had led them into a clearing in what seemed to be the middle of the island. It must form a hill as she could now see the flames of the burning castle better here than on the beach below. She wondered how long would it burn since it was such a large castle.

In the middle of the clearing sat a stone as wide as a man and twice the height. As she got closer, she realized that the stone was carved. Every inch was covered, a man with a sword next to a monster she didn’t recognize, heartwoods, and what could have been a wolf. Words of a language she’d never seen swirled around the edges to keep each carving from blending into each other.

She looked at it closely, having never seen such a language. The style of the carvings was unlike anything she’d seen, crude but enough detail that she could still make out what it was.

“That is not what you have come, at least for now. Much too far back even for a Daughter of The Stark to travel. Please, lay down here and I’ll explain what needs to be done.” He pointed instead to a long wooden bench that laid against a huge tree.

She shrugged and walked around the stone, the back of which was only had one large carving of a comet and what looked like the first men and Children of the Forest.

A massive crash from across the lake made her jump and snap her head to look across the lake. Arya braced herself against the stone as she watched. The fire must have finally burned the wooden beams in one of the towers as it had started to crush down. It had hit another tower, and as she watched it slowly began to lend before it too fell.

She hoped it had taken out the few White Walkers she knew had been leading the change. Aryra should have been there, fighting and killing as many as she could. Not running away.

“We don’t have much time,” the Old Man told her. “They will find you here so we must hurry.”

  
As she laid down, she realized the bench was a living part of the tree that someone had made to grow like a bench. She’d heard of things like that, gardeners that could shape a tree as it developed, but she’d never heard it done with a weirwood before.

“Close your eyes, and I will begin.”

Arya looked into the wooden eyes above her, blood-like sap rolling down the bark even though it was the middle of the worst winter in history. All the heart trees around them reminded her too much of her father, so she looked away. The stone caught her eye, and she saw that when she braced herself, her hand had been dripping blood from a cut on her arm. A bloody handprint covered the comet, and a trail of blood rolled over down, cutting through the carving of first men and Children of the Forest.

She honestly had nothing to lose from listening to this man. She had no men left to fight, and almost every friend she’d ever made was gone. Gendry was the last of them, and she didn’t think she could fight her way to him in the Stormlands only to have to burn another castle in defeat. Her home had already been burned to ash, and her family was dead.

Tears started to build up, and she rubbed her eyes with the collar of the overclock. Like she had thought it hadn’t been washed since it had been taken out to sea weeks ago and it stung her eyes more than the smoke had.

Arya closed her eyes as a tear rolled down her cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know this chapter may seem a bit slow but I thought Arya, and anyone else who travels through time, would need a bit to get used to the idea of being in the past so this chapter is more about where Arya's at mind wise and also laying hints about what happened during the five years post end of Game of Thrones. Next chapter is when Arya starts trying to actively change things. Does anyone want to guess where Arya is at during the flashbacks? 
> 
> Also, the tags for this fic are a mess and I'm sorry about it lol 
> 
> Thanks for all your comments and kudos !!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean for this chapter to be so..... monologue-ly

**Year 309 after the conquest, Year 4 of Winter**

It had been two years since Arya had last set foot in King’s Landing. She’d left this city to see things that no one else in Westeros, besides the other members of her ship, had seen. Lands that no one had even known existed, strange animals whose skins and bones she’d brought back to sell to the Maesters in Old Town, whole groups of people who had never heard of the Westeros.

Two years she’d been gone, and four months on the sea, yet instead of going to Winterfell as her plan had been after docking in Old Town, she had instead ridden here as fast as she could. Anger had kept her going long into the long nights. Thankfully she’d gotten a couple of change of horses directly from the fact that the Storm King was a known old lover of hers or her horse would be dead.

That Gendry had been crowned a king would have angered her enough. After all, while they may not have worked as lovers, she cared for him, and Arya knew he cared for her as well. It should have felt like a betrayal. But instead of marching on Storms End and demanding to know what the in the seven hells Gendry been thinking or riding to The Eyrie, where her cousin had been made King of Mountain and Vale or perhaps Pyke, whose Queen she’d talked to in Old Town, she was here.

She’d left with her sister as Queen of the North and her brother as King of the Six Kingdoms yet when she returned to Westeros the kingdom was almost gone. King Bran The Broken had lost the Iron Islands, Vale, Reach, Stormlands and Dorne within a year. Not even Cersei had managed to lose that much so soon.

Arya marched through the halls of the Red Keep, ignoring the soldiers that snapped to attention as she passed and the Lords and Ladies who bowed and whispered behind her. She shouldn’t have to be here while her brother’s kingdom broke around her or while Winterfell was under siege and that Bran had forced her here made her blood boil. She would get answers from him because king or not he was her brother, and he knew better than to abandon their family. Let alone abandon the North to the White Walkers.

A wall of shining metal and white stepped in front of her. Indeed the Lord Commander was brave. No one had even dared to try and stop her so far. “Princess Arya-”

“Don’t!” Arya snarled at Brienne as she sidestepped around her with ease. She stumped a few more feet before she stopped and turned to glare at the taller woman, “Does he have an excuse? Any at all?”

Brienne’s face had always been an open book and two years in King’s Land hadn’t changed that at all. There was no excuse, at least not one that Brienne could stand behind. “...His Grace hasn’t given me his reasons but-”

Arya scoffed, “Once I said you did an awful job of protecting my mother. Do you remember that?”

The knight flinched. “I-”

“You swore an oath to protect her, and my mother died with my brother because you failed your oath to her. ” Her words were cold, and it was the only because of her training that she wasn’t shaking with her rage. She wanted Brienne to hurt, wanted someone to feel at least partly as bad as she was. “You swore an oath to my sister and from what I can see you are failing that oath as well.”

“I’m Lord Commander of your brother’s Kingsguard,” Brienne tried to explain, “I go where he tells me.”

“My brother-” She cut herself off with a growl. “If Sansa dies in Winterfell because he refused to send men….I swear on the Old Gods and the New I’ll never forgive him for it.”

“I’m sure-”

Arya turned around, not interested in what the older woman had to say. “Don’t worry Lord Commander, rest assured I won’t kill my brother. Not today at least.”

* * *

Arya had never been much of a planner. Sending so much time with Sandor had taught her much, to kill, to fight and how to travel when you had nothing. One thing she’d learned from him is that even the most straightforward plans fell apart very quickly if one wasn’t careful.

He’d dragged her across the seven kingdoms in the middle of a war with little problem. Sure they ran into murders and rapists a couple of times, but they had fared alright. The Hounds plan had been the simplest one she could think of. Step One: Get her to her family. Step Two: Get Paid. A simple idea that failed because he didn’t take into account that every person in Westeros seemed to want her family dead.

She was better at planning on the go anyway, reacting to what happened around her as it was happening instead of using games to figure out what others were trying to do. Rarely did she have the patience to plan things out to the detail. Her most elaborate plan had been the death of House Frey, and even then it had been rather simple.

Gods above, her plan to kill the fucking queen of the seven kingdoms, during the middle of a siege, was to walk in with one of the most recognizable men in the country! Sure she couldn’t change her face because she used the last of her stole potion when she’d taken down the Freys but still, it wasn’t a great plan.

She had an edge for the moment; she knew more secrets than the Master of Whispers could ever wish for. It was what she was going to do with them that was the problem. It had taken her two weeks for her to come up with the bare bones of a plan, and she was still unsure it was going to work.

First, she had begun training alone in her room in the mornings and late at night. It was slow going as while her mind knew what she wanted to do her body didn’t. Training had been a time of calm for her, for clearing her mind or feeling her body loosen from tension. During her long times at sea, exercise was the only thing that had kept her from killing some of the more annoying members of her crew and later on during the siege at Moat Cailin she’d spent hours at a time going through the motions of the Water Dance instead of yelling at Jon while she’d been upset with him.

Her time training now wasn’t calming at all. Much of the time during training Arya spent burning with anger and embarrassment. It seemed to her that she was worse than when she began her dance lessons. Back then everything had been an improvement, but now she knew what it was like to fight the best knight in the seven kingdoms and win. She knew what she wanted her body to do, but her body didn’t listen to her and kept holding her wooden sword too tight, and her legs kept going into the wrong stance. She tried quickly and couldn’t handle training very long at all if she wanted to act normal around her family.

She would keep at it, but as much as it annoyed her, it was going to take time to regain her fighting abilities.

In every spare moment, Arya planned. Stopping the War of the Five Kings was something she knew she had to do. Stopping it meant saving almost her entire family, Father’s death had started it, Robb and Mother both had been killed fighting it and Rickon had been killed had the end of it. If she managed to stop it, Sansa wouldn’t have to be married into either the Lannisters or Boltons and Theon wouldn’t need to pick Greyjoy or Stark.

It would help with the war with the White Walkers as well. They needed men, and too many had been lost during the war. The Battle of the Blackwater and the Red Wedding alone had cost two armies.

Her first thought had been to try and stop her father from going south altogether. That had been the start of the entire mess in her mind after all. Going south hadn’t done any of the Starks favors. If Ned Stark didn’t go south, he couldn’t have his head cut off with his sword. Arya had sent an entire day thinking of ways to get her father from leaving Winterfell before she remembered another lesson she learned from her travels with Sandor.

Your plans meant nothing if people with more power had bigger plans than yours. His plan to ransom her had failed because Tywin Lannister had wanted her family dead and he had the ability to get the Frays to do it.

She had very little power here, she couldn’t fight, and no one had reason to listen to her. Her family had low political power south of the neck without her father being Hand of the King, but her enemies did, and their plans could wreak anything she tried to do without them even knowing.

After all, if her father stayed in Winterfell, it meant the Lannister’s went unopposed in King’s Landing. Cersei's marriage may restrain her at the moment, but he wouldn’t be around forever. Whispers that Robert, a well known great hunter even after losing his will to fight, had died during a hunting accident with a Lannister squire had only grown after the war started. Who's to say that without Ned being there she didn’t decide to kill him earlier? And without him finding out that all of Robert Baratheon’s heirs from Cersei were bastards and telling every noble he could, Joffrey would sit on the Iron Throne with little protest.

Arya couldn’t have Joffrey on the throne. He was too wild if Cersei couldn’t keep him line enough to stop a war. That and the thought of the sick bastard that had made her sister’s life seem like the seven hells for years having any power made her hands clenched into fists.  
  
King Robert held very little respect in her eyes, but at least she didn’t want to murder him with her bare hands like she did Joffrey. They had to go to King’s Landing if only to try and keep Robert alive long enough to have the full might of the Seven Kingdoms. It would also give her a chance to kill Joffrey. Besides him deserving to die if she could kill him before Robert died then if they failed, the crown would pass to Tommen instead.

No, she had decided that too many players of the game were in King’s Landing for her to ignore it. That also meant that she and Sansa would be leaving the north and it left her little time to change anything while here.

Once she had told Jon that they didn’t need allies, but then Winterfell had fallen alone, there had been no Queen Daenerys to offer a large army to protect it, and when Bran ignored her pleadings for help Sansa had only been able to hold the bulk of the White Walker army with a siege while as the people rushed south. Moat Cailin and Harrenhal had only been able to hold longer because they found and made allies.

She needed to try and start making those allies again but most she wouldn’t be able to reach, and even if she’d been able too they had all came to their power because of the deaths of others who were at the moment still alive.

Baelor Hightower had been a massive help in supplying her and her men during both sieges; he was right now ruling Oldtown in all but name. That didn't help her if he wasn’t King of the Reach, and worse she wouldn’t be dealing with the Hightowers at all since House Tyrell was still around. It wasn't like she would be able to get the House Hightower to betray them even if she wanted too. The Hightowers were loyal followers of Tyrell after all, Baelor’s sister having married Mace Tyrell. Out of all of Tyrion Lannister’s decisions after Bran had been made king she thought it had probably been giving away Highgarden to a low born sellsword that was the stupidest. The Hightowers had taken Highgarden quickly and declared themselves split off from the other six, Baelor only being the first to do so.

Weeks later Robin Arryn and Yara Grayjoy had done the same, and when the news finally reached Dorne they too declared independence then Gendry had been the last after the minor lords in the Stormlands demanded it.

While her brother hadn’t sent men to Winterfell when called to do so Robin at least sent some, he didn’t fear invasion from the armies of normal men and heard from his men all about the White Walkers. No one without a dragon would be able to take Eyrie but the winter that the White Walker brought with them would. Not much food could be grown so high in the mountains, and if they didn’t starve, they would freeze in the cold mountain air. After the fall of Winterfell, he’d sent more of his men to her at Moat Cailin and last she heard he was still holding on at the Gates of the Moon and hadn’t yet had to retreat to the Eyrie.

Right now he at least was Lord of the Eyrie, but he was also five and his mother, almost insane and murderer, was controlling both him and the vale.

Gendry was just a blacksmith apprentice and didn’t even know he was King Robert’s bastard. She at least knew where he was at the moment, and if Robert found out about Cersei’s bastards and lived, she could try to put Gendry on the throne. If at all possible she’d try not too, Gendry had told her many times how much he hated being Storm King, and she still loved him enough to want him to be happy.

There was still Yara. After Euron Greyjoy had died and Yara had taken his seat she had proven to be a great leader and brought the Ironborn up to muster. After she’d convinced Baelor to give her lands in the Reach, she built the fleet up anew. She’d been the one to make sure Arya been informed about the White Walkers return, having belated the Green Kraken to do so. Her ships had brought much of what King Baekor had sent, and her reavers killed more Wights than the knights of the vale had.

The Queen of Salt and Rock was only the captain of the Black Wind at the moment, her asshole father still lived, and Theon even thought he could one day lead the Ironborn, but she was popular among her men. Popular enough that she’d almost won the kingsmoot alone and maybe with enough of a push from Arya she’d win. Even better Balon won't even fight if he’s daughter gained more power since the man had raised her as his heir. If she could get Yara high enough before Euron Greyjoy returned he would find it much harder to gain control of the Ironborn.

  
There was no way for Arya to speak with her. She had no idea where Yara was at the moment. The Black Wind had once sailed from the Fair Isle to the Stepstones, and all Arya knew was that Yara had been in Pyke when Theon had gotten there in about a year from now.

Arya couldn’t speak with her but Theon could if he wanted to. He’d been able to write to his family for a few years now as a reward from her father for good behavior though he’d never had. If she could get Theon to write to her, she could try and influence her from there. Yara had a soft spot for her brother, and if Theon wrote to her, she would answer. If anything else them talking would take the shine out of Theon’s eyes when he spoke of his father, Yara never had any problems about saying how awful he was.

It probably wouldn’t do much, this little plan of hers. Yara was perhaps far away at sea and by the time Theon’s letter, if she could even convince him to write one, got to her Arya would be in King’s Landing. But after two weeks of trying and failing to think of things, she could change before King Robert, and the lot got here, she needed to try something. If only to prove to herself she could.  
  
So here she was in one of the smaller of the training yards, its early afternoon and it was empty besides her and Theon. It had taken a few days of begging for her father to let her train again with the bow, but finally, he’d let her. The conversation that past between them had been kept light, Theon’s mind not focused on Arya’s training. Understandably his mind often wandered to other things besides young Arya.

She started light with a question she already knew the answer too. “Who taught you to use the bow so well Theon?”

Theon puffed up at the praise. “The Ironborn are well known for their skills with the bow; my Uncle began to teach me when I was young, younger than Rickon.”

A lie and white lie. Ironborn rarely used the bow because they thought hand-to-hand had more glory and if one wanted a ranged weapon, they would carry axes or throwing daggers. And while his uncle Rodrik Harlaw had been the one to begin to teach him it had been Yara that had done the most of it.

She drew back the string on her bow and tried to make her aiming and release as fluid as possible. It hit the target a small way off-center, but she was still happy with it, archery was coming to her better than the sword was.

Theon nodded in approval but told her, “You should take more time aiming, you’ve been releasing fast lately.”

“If I needed to shoot someone I need to be quick,” she argued.  
He laughed, “Who do you need to shoot?”

Arya shrugged as she notched another arrow, “ I don’t know, some man probably.”

“Ladies don’t go around putting arrows in men, that’s what your brothers are for.”

This time her arrow was closer but still laid outside the small circle. “Woman can fight too, Visenya and Rhaenys Targaryen both fought during the conquest! Have you never seen a woman fight before?”

Another question she knew the answer to but this time Theon didn’t lie. Instead, he shook his head and with a hint of laughter, said, “I have, but that’s not a woman’s place.”

Arya scoffed, “ I bet you didn’t tell whoever she was that to her face.”

Theon shook his head. Yara would have smacked him if he had, favorite brother or not. “She’d probably grew out of it,” he said. His eyes looked far away, a face she knew all too well. He was thinking of Pyke, of home. “She was pretty young last I’d seen her.”

She didn’t bother hiding the roll of her eyes, “ Men always think women grow out of un-ladylike things, but they just get better at hiding it. I would bet you that even the highest born and most ladylike woman in the entire seven kingdoms has something about herself that she’s had to hide from men. Not that any man would notice really, men are stupid about that kind of thing. ”

Her arrow landed dead center.

He was looking at her differently, blinking at her like she'd surprised him in some way. It couldn’t be her good aim, and when she went back over her words, she didn’t find anything out of place. She’d often told everyone around her about her distaste for marriage when she’d been young.

“How would you know?” He asked, defensively with a frown. “You're just a girl.”

Oops, she must have hit something of a sore spot somewhere. Probably didn’t like her calling men stupid about women even though it was true. “Ask that woman then! If she were good enough with the sword for you to remember then I bet that if she stopped, it wasn’t because she wanted to, it would be because she had been made too.”

Theon narrowed his eyes in glare and like everything else, it was weaker than his sister’s. “I will ask her then,” he snapped.

“Fine,” she snapped back. “I can’t want for you to be wrong!”

After Theon marched away without another word, she sighed in frustration. That hadn’t gone well at all; she should have realized that Theon would get angry at her if he thought she had insulted him, which it was clear he had. He had such soft skin for insults for someone who lived as a captive. She got him to think about his sister and had even gotten him to at least think about writing her, but the topic he would be writing her about if he did was not one that would bond them together.

Yara had her weak spots as well and may just tear her little brother apart for daring to say her place was with a husband and a belly full of child, if she decided to answer at all. Theon may then want his father’s approval even more than before, maybe enough to try and visit Pyke. Theon was a captive and would be until his father died, but it was possible for him to press her father for a visit to Pyke, Jon had once told her that there had been mutterings about it when the news of his mother Alannys illness had made it to Winterfell. Father had only said no there hadn’t been any ships that he trusted at the moment and by the time there had been they heard had Alannys had calmed, so there was no need.

A single visit was all Theon would need to betray them.

Arya threw down her bow, the sting snapping off and hitting her leg. It cut open her skin, but she ignored it and stomped her way to her room, throwing the door open with a bang. Nymeria’s jerked from her place on the bed, her ears standing straight up.

She picked up the wooden sword that she’d stolen and swung it as hard as she could on the stone wall. It made a loud smack but didn’t break, so she did it again and again. Her forehead was dripping with sweat, her arms weak and tried before the wood finally gave way.

* * *

Year 309 after the conquest, Year 4 of Winter

The royal stables used to have some of the finest horseflesh in Westeros, but with both the Reach and Dorne having gone independent they were starting to lack. Arya was going to have to make do with what they had and try to find places where she’d be able to change out her horse along the Kingsroad.

Even if she rides there as fast as possible there was a high chance that Arya wouldn’t make it to Winterfell before it fell to the White Walkers, Yara had told her that the news from the North hadn’t looked good and that had been over a month ago now.

“Princess Arya?”

“Don’t call me that,” she growled as she checked her reins over. “I don’t want anything to do with your fucking king.”  
“Then let it be for your sister,” Brienne stood firm in the low light of the staple. She wasn’t wearing the armor of the King’s Guard and instead wore the armor Arya had seen her with at Winterfell years ago, Oathkeeper strapped to her waist.

“What’s this, then? Have you decided to break another oath?

The Maid of Tarth didn't flinch at her insult this time. “Someone told me that being a knight meant swearing so many oaths that no matter what you did, you were always breaking one of them.”

Arya pulled herself on her horse, and she looked down at the other woman with a frown, “ You would leave your king in a time of war?”

“He will be safe in King’s Landing. Queen Sansa, however, is in much more danger. I ask to accompany you to the North, and when Winterfell is secured, I will return to my post here.”

“You don’t have permission from the king; he was quite clear that he would not be sending anyone to The North.”

Brienne nodded, “The Hand gave me leave, but I would have gone North anyway.” She gripped Oathkeeper’s hilt tightly and glanced away, “You were right in that I didn’t serve Lady Stark as well as I should have, I should have been with her at the Twins. I’m sworn to King Bran, and I’d willingly give my life for his, but I was sworn to Queen Sansa first, and before that, I’d told Lady Stark I would protect her daughters.”

Arya motioned her horse forward and snapped her, “Fine then. Get a horse saddled so we can leave; we are going to ride North as hard as possible.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In every time travel fic ever the one who traveled always thinks that with a couple of conversions they can changes things right? Well if that's true than what if you fuck it up? Arya has like....no real charisma besides threatening people and because there's not much she can change at the moment she picked Theon who is a huge baby. So yeah her first try did not go over very well. 
> 
> I started this fic because there is no way in hell that the kingdom won't be at war in like a week! Look me in the eye and tell me that making Bronn the leader of the biggest area in the whole fucking kingdom was a good idea! No way my dude. Nah. Yara Grayjoy also wouldn't take the North going independent and Pyke not very well either but I think she would be smarter about it. Robin Arryn is young so he just kind went for it and Gendry got pushed into it. 
> 
> Just for people who haven't spent hours going through the book wiki like I have ----   
> In the books the ironborn don't use bows that much, like Arya says, they prefer hand-to-hand combat. No idea why the show says they are known for using the bow and it really it makes no sense since they, you know sail boats and shit? They do use throwing axes and knives and they have a whole game where they throw them at each other because the ironborn are both metal and dumb as fuck. Rodrik Harlaw is Theon and Arya's uncle through their mother and is actually pretty chill. 
> 
> I used the Hightowers because they were the one house I knew of in the Reach and I needed a house to take over because of Bronn. While checking them out I found out that they actually married into the Tyrells ( Alerie Hightower is Willas, Garlan, Loras, and Margaery mother) and I thought that was even more perfect.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo sorry that this is late! My work changed my schedule suddenly so I didn't have the time to do it! I'm hoping to get next week on time but I'm not sure it will happen.

**Winterfell in Year 309 After The Conquest, Year 4 of Winter.**

“Did I tell you that I’d seen your sister in Oldtown?”

Sansa didn’t bother looking up from the stack of parchments that laid on her desk to look at Queen Yara who was lounging in one of the larger chairs in Sansa’s solar. If it weren’t for the fact that Sansa, and all the North, so dearly needed her help, she would have ignored her completely. The other woman reminded her too much of Theon, in looks and Arya with actions.

Yara was set to leave Winterfell in a few days while her ship, The Green Kraken, was being unloaded at Torrhen's Square, only a two-day ride from here. From there she’d sail back down to the Salt Spear and round inland on the Fever to bring more supplies to Moat Cailin.

“You didn’t, no.”

“Hmm,” Yara took a drink from her cup of ale that rested next to her. “ She’d found some land east of here you know? Not much, the people she’d met didn’t believe her when she told them of Westeros since they only knew of islands no larger than Pyke.”

Sansa nodded without listening.

The manifest of what Yara had brought them lacked in what they truly needed. Winterfell needed more than what Sansa could find in a land so scared by the White Walkers, and it required more than what Hightower was willing to give them. Death had been brought to the North, and not enough time had passed for regrowth even to begin. So much land was open and empty but no men to tend to it. Iron and stone ready to be mined but no one to swing a pickaxe. Even with the wilding men that stayed after the Battle for Dawn, there wasn’t enough.

The roaming bands of wights that had started to appear more and more south the past few weeks were also making building the North much harder.

Yara noticed that Sansa was preoccupied. “I thought you were close, yet you don’t seem to care to hear she’s back.”

She glanced up and raised an eyebrow, “You think I didn’t hear about the sighting of the Sea Wolf the moment it was seen off the shores of Oldtown ?”

Her follow queen rolled her eyes, “Of course I knew you heard. You probably have the most spies in the kingdoms at the moment.”

There was no probably about it. She did.

Littlefinger had lost many of his informants after he left Kings Landing, but she’d taken as many as she could under her as quickly as she could. It helped that with both him and Varys gone, there was a power vacuum that she could soon fill. Bran had made many mistakes so far and not appointing a Master of Whisperers, against her advice, was one of them.

Even with Bran’s powers, he couldn’t be everywhere. As a new king, he needed his people out there with the smallfolk at the very least. Riots were a danger no matter who ruled and without the Reach to lend them aid King’s Landing could very well starve. The Hand may be paying for food at the moment, but this winter was only growing worse. Hightower may be allowing it at the moment because he needed the gold after taking Highgarden but eventually, he wouldn’t. No matter how much Lannister gold was thrown at him because It wouldn’t be worth dying in a few years because he sold everything.

  
Baelor would eventually stop his dealings with her as well, but the North could survive this winter, even with the low amount of men she had. She would gladly open Winterfell, and it’s heated walls to those that needed it. Her home had always opened its gates during winter, and this winter would be no different, even if Winterfell weren’t yet rebuilt.

  
“You don’t want to know why she didn’t come with me ?”

“Knowing Arya? Let me guess….she went to Kings Landing to yell at my brother.” She should have gotten there a few days ago if the raven Sansa had gotten from House Cafferen of Fawnton was right. Arya had stopped at Fawnton for a change of horse as the one she’d rode in on was exhausted from her ride from Highgarden. Her sister had only stayed long enough for it to be saddled before she’d taken off again. Gendry may have been browbeaten into declaring himself king but had at least seen that Arya was taken care of while passing through the Stormlands.

Yara laughed, a smirk growing on her face. “ Gods was she pissed. Thought for a moment, she was going to try and take a stab at me for being the one to tell her.”

“She has better control over her temper than that, just not enough to realize that yelling at Bran isn’t going to help anything.”

After all, Sansa had already written to him, and he’d made it clear that he wasn’t going to send any help. A part of her understood, but that was the part of herself that Baelish had grown. Where she was dark and uncaring about anyone other than herself, she remembered what he taught her, but in all honestly, Bran could be using this to his advance.

While Baelor had fought for Highgarden, none of the others had. Each declared themselves independent, but no blood had been spilled. If done right he could very pull them back in, besides perhaps Yara. The Hightowers would be happy to bend the knee for Highgarden, Robin and Gendry had been browbeaten into it by their nobles. With Arya back, she could get Gendry to change his mind or marry the man already. Prince Quentyn Martell would back down when he sees that Bran had it under control.

None of the leaders of the shattered kingdom were unreasonable, she had already started a trade allice with the Reach, and the Iron Islands and Robin had sent her knights to help with the lingering wrights. All he needed to do was send her some men, and she could do the rest for him. It was almost annoying to be able to see how to fix her brothers problems when he so clearly didn’t care about them.

“She’s protective of her siblings that's for sure,” Yara said. “I think she said she’d slit my throat for threating her brother.”

Sansa smiled, remembering the small surprise on Yara’s face when Arya had done so. “Her and Jon were close growing up, and he was her favorite.”

The other Queen said nothing, just took another drink from her cup. In times Sansa and Yara had spoken since the Dragonpit Yara had very rarely held back her tongue. It was possible that she didn’t want to offend Sansa since the older woman had been the only one to call for Jon’s death outright, besides the unsullied commander, and had made it clear she didn’t like him at all though Sansa had no idea why.

“Would you tell me why you sided so strongly against him ?” Sansa asked curiously. “No one else at the pit dared.”

Yara scoffed into her cup, “Too scared that he would be the king the damn cowards.” She lent back in her chair, her dark eyes studying Sansa. “I meant what I said. I swore an oath to Daenerys, and he put a knife through her heart.”

“She burned down King’s Landing,” Sansa pointed out. “ She killed-”

“Tywin Lannister sacked it and had those Targaryen babes murdered, and nothing at all was done to him,” Yara said with a scowl. “Everyday, men torture, rape, and murder those around them, and nothing is done if he has gold or his father is some lord. None of them could stand the thought of a woman doing the same, and so Daenerys had to die.”

“You think he killed her because she was a woman?” Sansa asked, shocked. “ Jon was devastated by it; he loved her!”

“Not devastated enough to not murder her in cold blood,” Yara stood with a scowl on her face. All of her good cheer was gone. “ Why the fuck should I feel bad for him when she was the one who was murder by someone she loved?”

Sansa watched as the older woman stormed out, the door slamming closed behind her. With a sigh, she got a blank piece of parchment and started to write a letter to send to Moat Cailin. It was suddenly even more critical that Queen Yara Grayjoy didn’t find out that Jon was south of the wall.

* * *

**Winterfell in the year 298 After The Conquest, Year Ten of Summer.**

“Please just speak with her, you know she’ll never speak with me.”

“Cat….” Ned sighed. They had only just eaten and being so busy it was likely the only time they would be seeing each other until they went to bed late tonight, “Robert is due in Winterfell in only a fortnight, I don’t have time to-” The glare his wife sent him made him stop.

“Something is wrong with Arya,” she repeated.

“She was sick,” Ned argued. “ Maester Luwin told us that she might act strangely for some time. We should be thankful that she’s able to talk!”

Catelyn stood at his desk, her frown heavy on her face. She sighed and nodded, “And I thank the seven for it every morning and night, but….”

“But?”

“Do you remember when she hurt her knee running from her Septa in the Godswood? She refused to tell anyone about it; she wanted to a knight and knights don’t go-”

“To maesters over little falls. I remember.” Arya had to stay in bed for days after, the longest she had ever been bedridden until this last fall.

“ Then you remember that I had asked her as soon as she walked into the hall if something was wrong. I could see it in her eyes, Ned. She hides her pain, always has but I’m her mother, and I know when something is wrong with her.”

It was something Arya would do. If she thought they would stop her from training with Theon or learning to ride, she would never tell them about it. She had always hated being looked after for cuts or bruises, or staying in bed when she had a cold.

“I’ll speak to her tonight,” Ned agreed. “Before she goes to bed.”

His wife sighed in relief. “Thank you, Ned.” She frowned a little, her eyes still filled with worry. “I wish she’d speak to me about these things, but she’s her father’s daughter.”

A small smile grew on his face, “Aye that she is. If you’re right, I’ll speak some sense to her.”

“Good.” Catelyn kissed him goodbye and went off to make sure their children had begun their day before she met with a hundred people about the King’s visit.

He too had a hundred and one things that needed to be done, from lords that wanted to visit while Robert was here to the Night’s Watch wanting to know if he had anything to spare for them. Still, Catelyn’s worry stayed in the back of his mind. He spoke the truth that they should be thankful about Arya’s being able to talk and in fact had seemed… fine. No shaking limbs or nonsense words, she was eating and talking regularly.

There had been times he’d been a little worried about her. When she’d first awoken, she’d seemed so happy to see them, had even cried when she had seen Sansa. He hadn’t said anything about it because Arya and Sansa didn’t get along at all so he knew she wouldn’t like it if he called attention to it. Arya had also been well behaved, very well behaved. No fighting with Sansa or trying to prank Bran.

She hadn’t been playing with Bran much at all. She and Bran played together the most since they were so close in age, but instead, she’d been watching the elder boys training lately which was too dull for Bran or running around with her pup alone.

Strange behavior? Yes, but illness could change a person, and Arya was so young…. He would talk to her like he had agreed if only to make sure Arya wasn’t hiding some hidden pain.

In the early evening, a knock sounded on his solar door.

“Yes?”

“May I have a word with you, my lord?” Theon asked. He looked nervous, his hands clenched a little too tight and face somewhat pale.

“What about?”

“I-” Theon cleared his throat and tried to stand as tall as possible. “I would like your permission to send a raven to Pyke.”

Ned looked up at him with surprise. He’d told the boy years ago that he could send letters and while Theon had once or twice, he’d hadn’t since his mother had become ill.

“Of course,” he said slowly. “You know you can if you wish. You don’t need my permission every time.”

“Yes, my lord, I just wanted you to know that I may be getting one back if she wishes to respond.”

Ned frowned, “You aren’t writing to your father?”

Theon shook his head, “It’s for my sister.”

Ned had seen the Kraken's daughter only once. It had been when Robert had made Balon bend the knee and had demanded that Theon be both hostage and ward. Robert had made sure that as many people as possible had seen Balon submit and that had included Balon’s wife Alannys and his young daughter Yara. She’d been a skinny girl with knob knees with her hair cut like a boy, her mother holding her tightly in one hand and her brother in the other.

The last he heard Balon had not only let her captain her own ship but also do raiding down in the Stepstones.

Theon hadn’t mentioned her much over the years, but that wasn’t surprising. While he liked to talk about Pyke, he rarely spoke about his family. Typical for a boy taken away so young. Theon had also been taken after a war and by the men that had killed two of his brothers.

His moment of thought made Theon nervous. “If that’s alright, my lord?”

“Just surprised,” Ned shook his head. “I hadn’t realized you were close to your sister but you can, of course, write to her if you wish. I believe I heard she was offshore, though.”

“I’m not really,” Theon shrugged. “Close to her, I mean. It’s been years since either of us sent a letter.”

“I’m sure with her away at sea it would be hard for her to respond, but you can, of course, write to her.”

The young man nodded again, but before he turned to leave, Ned called him back. “Theon,” he said. “Catelyn believes Arya is hiding some effect of her sickness from us. She’s been following you and the other boys a lot lately, have you noticed anything?”

“Not I can recall my lord,” he frowned in thought. “Or well…”

“Yes?”

Theon rushed to reassure him. “It’s nothing; it’s just she’s been quieter, much quieter. She used to get in our way when we trained, but now she sits above on the wall, and I forget she’s there half the time.”

Out of all his children, the guards as a whole seemed to like Arya the most. She had always enjoyed talking to them, hearing their war stories and tall tales. Jory had come to him more than once about Arya distracting his guards or her getting in their way. Arya underfoot they called her when they messed her hair or gave her a sweet. She had gone quite hadn’t she? He’d just been so happy that she seemed healthy that he hadn’t realized that he hadn’t seen her speak to a single guard since she’d awoken. She hadn’t gone to the kitchen to see the cooks or tried to play swords with the butcher's boy.

Theon continued, “She seems…. Older?” He shook his head with a huff, “I know that doesn’t make sense my lord, but we trained earlier and the way she spoke? It was like she knew from experience.”

“Experience with what?”

“Growing older,” he said with a confused look on his face. “The things she said reminded me of Yara when she was around Sansa’s age. I don’t know where Arya could have heard it, but my mother had once told my sister that men always think girls grow out of being unladylike, but women are just better at hiding it.”

Ned frowned and shook his head. Maybe a guard had said something like that to her. He decided that he would speak with her now, his worry had grown when he realized that his wife had been right about her acting off. He stood, “Do you know where she is?” Ned asked.

Theon told him that he’d seen her go into her room on his way to Ned’s solar. As he walked, he tried to calm the worry that was building. Had Arya been spared the brunt of her sickness only to change personality? High fever could do that, make a once sweet man into a monster. Had hers made her dislike the company of others?

Ned tapped on Arya’s door once before he opened it.

He watched shocked as the wooden sword in Arya’s hand's burst and shattered as it hit the wall. He opened his mouth to speak but before he could Arya snapped her head around to the doorway, harsh glare and scowl on her face.

When had Arya learned to such anger?

His daughter blinked, and the anger was gone, all emotion at all was gone. She dropped the broken hilt of the sword and simply looked at him, blank-faced. Her eyes always reminded him of his sister; they both had eyes of steel or darken rain clouds. It sometimes hurts to see, but now it was like a sword to his heart because his daughter may be standing, but her eyes were blank and empty just like Lyanna’s had been in that tower-

“I’m sorry,” Arya said. Her voice was tilted like she was trying to repress her emotions from her voice but couldn’t. She sat down on her bed and refused to look at him. “ I’m so sorry.”

He kneeled in front of her, his heart beating wildly in his chest. “It’s alright-”

“No, it’s not,” she snapped. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she rubbed it away with the palm of her hand as she glared at the wall, still not looking him in the eye. “I lost my temper, and I shouldn’t have.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” He said slowly. Arya had never cared before about losing her temper. Had laughed about it after the fact many times. He knew Cat would be happy with her starting to care about it; he knew that it should be a good thing since Arya’s temper had gotten her into trouble more than once. But he didn’t want her to be punishing herself over it. “What is it that is bothering you?”

“Nothing,” She said much too flatly for him to believe her. “Nothing,” she said again when he frowned.

“Your mother is worried about you.” He sat down next to her, pulling Arya in with his arm. She hesitated before she leaned into him, hiding her face in his chest.

“Mother is always worried,” she muttered.

“Aye she is, but now I am as well.”

“I just lost my temper; it won’t happen again.”

Ned shook his head, leaning away from her with a frown. “Why are you punishing yourself so much over a wooden training sword?”

Arya opened her mouth to speak but shook her head and instead pressed her face into his chest. She was holding him tightly, and he wondered what was frightening her so much. His youngest daughter was never one to hide from her fears.

“You don’t have to hide things from us,” he said slowly. “Whatever it is, we'll help you with it, no matter what it is. I want you to be happy.”

Arya was silent, but she didn’t pull away. “I wanted to handle it myself,” she said quietly. “I wanted…. I felt guilty, so I wanted to fix it alone.”

“You are a Stark of Winterfell,” he reminded her. “ I’ve told you to have I not? The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.”

She nodded and pulled away. “I remember, I’m sorry….” Arya laughed a little, “I don’t know how to begin. Wait maybe mother should be here? If I tell you mother should know too.”

“Your mother is very busy,” he reminded her gently. “I will tell her everything if you like. I’m sure she’d love to make time for you tomorrow if you ask her.”

Arya shook her head with a frown. “I’d rather not go over this twice. This is much more important than the King’s visit anyway.”

“Arya-”

“I’m not eleven,” she cut him off. “Or well, my mind isn’t.”

“....What?”

“A Green man from the Isle of Faces, the last of them, used his greensight to help me.” She said quickly. “He showed me the past, and all I had to do was warg into myself. That’s what caused me to get sick; you aren't supposed to do that kind of thing since it kills most people.”

“Arya,” he shook his head, “I don’t know what you dreamed while you were asleep, but those things are gone now. No one’s seen a warg in the north in-”

“No one has seen dire wolves south of the wall either,” she pointed out. “ I can prove it. With one question I can prove it. If I’m wrong, I’ll never speak of it again. I’ll marry one of your bannerman's sons, and I’ll have his fat children without a single protest.”

Ned frowned and felt his heart clenched, “I’d never make you-”

She rolled her eyes, “I’m the daughter of a lord. I know what that means, and you know what that means. Just one question.”

He sighed, “One question.”

Arya looked him in the eye and asked, “ Why did you never tell mother that Jon was your nephew?

* * *

**Winterfell in Year 309 After The Conquest, Year 4 of Winter**

Sansa slammed the door open to the room she had let Queen Yara still during her short stay at Winterfell. The older woman had one of Sansa’s serving girls in her lap and her shirt half-open.

“Leave us please,” Sansa told her. It came out a little harsher than she would have liked, but this was a matter of some urgency.

The girl was red with embarrassment as she bowed and left. Yara, on the other hand, looked a little smug, there was a smirk on her lips as she ran a hand through her messy hair. “What can I do for you?” She said as she leaned back on the bed. Yara crossed her legs at the ankle and didn’t hide that her half undone shirt showed her fellow queen her bare chest. “I hope you-”

“What did you tell Arya?” Sansa cut her off as she had no time to deal with the other woman’s flirtations. “When you saw her in Oldtown, what did you tell her?”

Yara raised her eyebrows, “I told you ready. That the North had started seeing wights again and that your brother ignores your call for aid.”

Sansa frowned and clenched the letter in her hand tighter. “How bad did you make it seem when you spoke to her?”  
  
The ironborn sighed and stood, “You caught me.”

“Caught you?”

Yara poured herself some mead and took a long drink from it, watching Sansa closely. She seemed a little confused at Sansa’s confusion. “I exaggerated a bit,” she confessed. “I thought to have your sister mad at him and make it easier to get others on our side. I told her that you were a step away from being under siege from wights.”

Sansa laughed. It must have made her sound a bit mad because Yara’s frown looked like a hidden worry. “Good,” Sansa told her after a deep breath. “Then hopefully Arya will come up here with as much help as she can, we’re going to need it.” She looked at the scouting letter in her hand and willed herself to pull it together. She was Sansa the Red-Wolf of House Stark, the Queen in the North and she would fight for it until her last breath.

Yara may have been lying in Oldtown, but if the letter she’d got was right then, a siege was the very least of their problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found myself really liking the format that I started ?? The two flashback scenes from chapter three were just there so I didn't have to do Arya just thinking about it but I found myself really liking it so I've decided to keep it for now. It lets me put some action in early since nothing too big can happen right now. Plus Yara isn't going to show up for a bit and I love late show Sansa more than early Sansa and this gives me leeway to write them. That and I thought of so much backstory for Arya's missing years from post season 8 
> 
> Quentyn Martell is a real person from the books, he's dead but he's the second child and eldest son of Doran Martell. The prince from the dragon pit didn't have a name so it gets to be him. Probably not going to show up ever since I'm not too big a fan of Darne 
> 
> And yeah what Arya thinks is going to happen isn't always going to happen. She thought that Theon was upset that she called him stupid, which he was maybe a little but he was more upset that she reminded him of a younger Yara. I headcanon Theon always being defensive about remembering that the younger Starks look up to him like family more then Theon does with his own siblings. Theon defensive = stumping off. Plus Arya has spent a lot of time with Yara in the past so she unconsciously picked up a thing or two from her, thus why Theon frowned at her like that last chapter 
> 
> Anyway I'm glad so many of you are liking this! I love all your comments and Kudos !!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .....ok....So about that regular update thing I was talking about 
> 
> first, my job gave me a lot more hours then I started like five other projects and then I was in two car accidents (Two days in arow!!) so needless to say ? Uh my bad

**Winterfell in the year 298 After The Conquest, Year Ten of Summer.**

There was a difference between lying and being someone else. Before King’s Landing Arya had never been able to keep anything secret for very long, she never really had the need. After her father’s death, she slowly learned to change who she was; a young boy traveling north, street urchin or Cat of the Canals. She’d lost herself in the House of Black and White for a while, but in the end, she was still Arya Stark of Winterfell and she couldn’t, and wouldn’t, lose that.

So even though the mask she had worn was her, a different her, she couldn’t hold it forever. Not only that, but she hadn’t thought that everyone knew her here. Everyone in Winterfell knew little Arya Stark but after almost 12 years she…. didn’t. She was basing her mask on memories that were old and faded, and no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t make it fit.

The day her father lost his head was when that young girl disappeared. Too much had happened, and she knew that the deaths of her family would haunt her forever, even if she saved them here. Her father kneeling in King’s Landing, Robb with his wolf’s head sewn on, her mother’s throat cut to the bone, Rickon, Sansa, and Jon…. Even if Bran’s heart was still beating when she’d left, he died years ago in her mind. She’d lost friends as well, too many to count. The night that Harrenhal fell was still so fresh in her mind. Arya had awoken twice with the smell of ash in her lungs and the sound of the God’s Eye waves in her ear.

There was just no hiding that Arya had changed and that she couldn’t simply put on the mask with people that knew her so well. She thought she could hide all of this from her parents, but now Arya realized how foolish that was. Her father knew her too well, and her mother had always known when her children were acting.

So now here she sat, waiting for her mother to come.

Her father hadn’t said anything since he’d told her to come with him to his room, wanting to make sure that no one overheard what she was going to say to him. Seven hells, she hadn’t seen his face so pale since King’s Landing.

“Who told you?” He said suddenly from his chair, dark gray eyes staring at her like steel. “There is only one man who knew, and he swore an oath to me that he’d never say a word.”

“As far as I knew Lord Reed never did,” she told him quietly. “ Bran saw it with his green slight, and a man named Samwell Tarly confirmed it with records from the Citadel.”

It was a rare thing to see Ned Stark show so much shock.“ There were no records-”

“Not of his birth,” Arya nodded. She kept her voice low, not in fear of someone overhearing but an attempt to stay this calm. “But Rhaegar’s marriage annulment and remarriage were recorded by the Septon.”

“She would have never agreed to marry him,” Ned clenched his jaw and growled through his teeth. “Not after what happened to our father and Brandon.”

Arya shrugged and tried not to show how strange it felt to be talking about this with her father. He never had before and besides tell her that she was like her Aunt Lyanna he’d rarely spoken about her, his father or Brandon. “Could she have said no to the crown prince and three of his king guard?”

Before he could answer the door opened, and her mother walked in quickly. She looked worried when she saw Arya setting across from Ned by the fireplace and when Cat saw her husband’s face she looked even more distraught. “What is it?” her mother asked as she looked between the two of them.

A moment of silence, Arya not knowing if her father wanted her to speak or if he wanted to himself.

“You were right,” he said after a moment. His voice was low, and he kept his dark stare on Arya. “When you thought something was wrong this morning.”

The older woman took a deep breath, straightened her back, and when she spoke, it was with confidence. “Whatever it is, we’ll take care of it.”

Arya had to simile at that; it was like seeing what Sansa would be like in a few years. A real high born lady that showed no fear and did the things she needed to be done.

The anger seemed to fall away from Ned.“You said you wanted both of us here,” her father sighed, “We’re here.”

“You aren't going to tell her ‘That’ yourself?” Arya asked, surprised.

He shook his head, “Later. I don’t want to wait, and I don’t think you do either.”

No, she didn’t but where to even start….

“Winter is coming,” she started because that's what truly mattered. “And it will be the worst winter we have seen in thousands of years. ”

Her mother frowned and looked at Ned. He had tightened his shoulders, a frown forming on his face as well. “Winter is always coming,” he said slowly. “That is why we must always prepare for it.”

Arya nodded in agreement. “This winter will be nothing like any you’ve seen,” she said. “It’s nothing like what any winter that has come since the one of the long night.”

Her mother was confused, “What are you talking about?”

“I’m not eleven, not truly,” she told them both. “Like I already told father; A Green Man on the Isles of faces helped me. I warged into myself, and now I’m going to try and stop the White Walkers.”

“Arya don’t be absurd,” Cat snapped. “Sick or not I won’t have you telling-”

“How much time do we have ?” Ned cut her off. His face was pale, but he looked at her like so many generals had before. He believed her, at least enough to hear what she had to say.

“You can’t believe her-”

“I know who Jon’s mother is,” Arya told her. Although she knew that it would upset her. She didn’t know anything else that would make her mother believe her. She didn’t know anything about her mother that no one else would know, as far as she knew her mother lived her life without such a dark secret

Catelyn’s jaw dropped and looked at her and Ned with disbelief. That disbelief quickly turned to anger, as most things did when her mother was reminded of Jon.

Before she could snap at her husband or daughter, Arya spoke. “Father didn’t tell me in fact; he never told anyone. He took it to his grave.”

Her father slumped back, face grim but unsurprised.

Her mother’s jaw clicked shut and sat down beside Ned. She stared at Arya for a moment, her bright blue eyes roaming over her. Arya knew that look; she’d seen it many times before, her mother was judging if she was telling the truth. They locked eyes for a long moment before the older woman looked away as her hand rose to her mouth, the shock evident on her face.

Ned leaned over to hold his wife’s hand and turned to Arya; he asked again, “How long ?”

“The White Walkers have already started to move south slowly. It takes them about five years to get to the wall.”

He rubbed his chin and stood, “ We’ll need proof. There’s not enough time before Robert gets here-”

“I don’t think he’ll be all that helpful,” Arya told him. “He was killed before the winter started, but I know enough. He’s a shit king, not the worst I’ve seen but I don’t think he’s worth trying to convince.”

Her parents stared at her for a moment; her mother still pale and unable to speak. “He is the king,” Ned said slowly. “And my friend. He needs to know.”

“He’s a king that is letting the kingdom go to the brink of war without a care in the world,” she told him flatly. “His death and his complete lack of competence led to a civil war that almost destroyed our family.”

“No,” her mother gasped.

Arya nodded with a sigh, gods she needed to remember that while she was numb from this, it didn’t mean that everyone else was. “I don’t know if we could have survived longer if that war hadn’t been fought, but it didn’t help that so much of the armies in Westeros were killed.”

“It’s more than the White Walkers then?” Ned asked slowly. “We have to stop this war as well?”

“Stopping the war shouldn’t be too hard,” Arya shrugged. “Or at least the same one. It-” she paused for a moment. Maybe she wasn’t numb as she thought, that old anger was still there. “It started because you found out that all the royal children are bastards, you sent out letters to every castle in Westeros. You were betrayed before we could leave King’s Landing.”

“Bastards?” Her mother shook her head, “Surly Cersei Lannister would know better than that?”

“That is the reason for the war then? Robert dead and the royal heirs are bastards….” He sighed again, “Gods another war so soon.”

“That wasn’t the start,” Arya corrected. “Or maybe the others would have declared without it, but the North declared independence first, and all the others followed. Joffrey had you killed.” Her voice grew colder, and she tried to keep the murderous look in her eyes down. No need for her parents to know just how much blood her hands had seen. “He swore that if you lied and repented he would show mercy and instead you were beheaded on the steps of Baelor's Sept.”

Her father braced himself on the back of his chair while her mother simply stared at her.

She had known that going through all this would be hard but seeing her parents while she did so much worse. Arya wanted this to be over. “ I had gotten away when the Lannister had purged the tower, but Sansa didn’t. The Lannisters kept her prisoner for most of the war. Robb had called the bannermen and had ridden so, and when you died, he was declared King in the North.”

“There hasn’t been a King in the North in hundreds of years,” Ned said with a shack of his head. “Robb is just a boy why would he be crowned king?”

“The North loves you,” her mother pointed out quietly. “All of your bannermen marched with you during the rebellion and hearing that you were killed like your father…. why would they not try to break away ?”

“Robb led them well too. You would have been proud of him; he never lost a battle. They called him the Young Wolf….” Arya told them with a grim smile. “He even had Tywin Lannister afraid.”

She wasn’t surprised when her parents weren’t comforted by that.

“You said that the civil war almost destroyed our family.” Catelyn held herself with a calm that Arya saw through quickly. She hated being able to see her mother’s fears with all Arya would be doing is confirm them. “Who ?”

She looked at her parents, the fear for her and her siblings so evident in their faces. They were trying to hide it, but it was plain in their eyes. Gods they weren’t that much older than her were they? Her body was young, but she had lived for twenty-four years, and now her parents were only ... what? Five years older than her? Arya had seen war more then even her father had.

“Both of you, Robb and Rickon” Arya’s voice creaked. She ignored the sound of pain that fell from her mother’s mouth and the overwhelming suffering in her father’s eyes.

Ned's fingers tightened around the back of the chair, “How? Who?”

“Robb was betrayed by the Boltons. The Freys murdered him, his wife, and most of the bannermen.” In her nightmares, she could still hear the chanting from that night. “Mother was killed there as well.”

Arya watched as her father's face went from enraged to dead blank. “Roose killed my wife ?” he said. “Killed my son ?”

“His bastard Ramsay was the one that killed Rickon as well,” she added. There was always guilt when she thought of him, he’d been so young when she’d left Winterfell. Arya never forgot him, but it seemed like he was always the last to be remembered.

“No, not Rickon,” her mother whispered. “He’s just a boy, why would anyone do such a thing?”

“He was going into battle against Jon and Sansa, the Battle of the Bastards they called it.” Arya thought for a moment, how much did they need to know about the details? Inevitably it would only cause them pain if they knew just how much of a monster Ramsay was, what he’d done to Sansa and Theon. “Roose Bolton turned on Robb because he was greedy,” she said with care. “He thought that Robb had lost the war, so he went to the Lannisters but his son? He is one of the biggest monsters in Westeros.”

“Seven hells,” her mother muttered. The first time she’d ever heard her lady mother swear. Catelyn turned to Ned, her voice barely lower than a shout. “Our closest allies would turn as us so quickly? The Freys are sworn to my father and the Boltons to you, but they killed our sons!”

Her father’s head dropped, “What am I to do?” he said quietly. “How do I get justice for things that haven’t happened?”

“You make sure it doesn’t happen in the first place,” Arya told them firmly. “ I wanted to fix this by myself because I failed. That was a foolish thought; I see that now. This is too big for me or us, to handle alone. Winter is Coming, but to fight it, we have to make sure the kingdom doesn’t fall into war first.”

She stood, letting the last pieces of her mask fall away. It would hurt them to see her like this, Arya knew. The way she stood like a soldier with her blank face and the dead look in her eyes. It would hurt them but better to let them see it now so that they could move past it.

They needed to get to work. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to slipt the timelines into different chapters! Trying to prolong the flash back story wasn't working so I'm just going to put them in every once in a while


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was thinking about not finishing this fic since I rally only wrote to because I was mad but it is one of my most popular fics and some wrote some nice comments so I thought I'd at least finish this chapter lol 
> 
> I forgot how much I liked writing GOT stuff, there's just SO MUCH lore. 
> 
> Anyway if you guys like it enough I'll see about working on it while I finish COG

_**Year 309 After The Conquest, Year 4 of Winter.** _

Riding on a horse alone to Winterfell from King’s Landing wasn’t the fastest way to travel, not if one had the money. Arya had that and the fact that she was sister to a Queen and a King. She allowed Brienne to follow her, though she wasn’t used to the rough riding Arya was pushing. 

They rode the Kingsrode north until they reached Castle Darry, her uncle, one of the few nobles staying loyal to her brother, so they had no problem on their journey. She tried not to be upset about it, that her uncle could leave Sansa and the North alone to deal with the White Walkers, but at least he arranged for a small boat to help take them from Darry to the Twins. 

That had been where the anger started to build up. How hated the sight of that blasted bridge. Her father’s death had killed her, but that night when she’d seen the broken body of her brother was when she became what she was now. 

They didn’t spend the night there, bearly even an hour after they had stepped foot at the Twins, they had started again on fresh horses and rode their own North. 

Yet as they rode, she began to realize that there were too many people heading south. Everywhere she looked, people with horses and carts lined the rodes. At first, she thought it was due to the news that the wights were attacking again, yet there seemed no end to them. Surely not this many people would leave the North over bands of wights? 

The lands became wetter, and the rode became more a narrow causeway than rode. In the four days it took them to cross it, the waves of people only thicken, and tent fires lined the way for them at night, and small space slowed them as they rode north. 

When the Kingsroad finally widens as the sight of Moat Cailin came into view, she could have sighed in relief. While the Neck was considered the North, it didn’t feel like it, it was too wet and boggy to feel like home, but Moat Cailin broken and ruined as it was, was the first sign that she was coming home. 

“There are a lot of people here,” Arya noted. “Last time I passed through it, some almost empty.” Even from their place down the Kingsroad, she could see people milling about. Pulling stones and hauling wood from the wet forests around them. 

“Queen Sansa was beginning to have it rebuilt,” Brienne told her. “I believe she only placed Winterfell above it.” 

Why would Sansa wish to fix this forgotten place? It would need to be rebuilt from the ground up, and it would take years, yet if one wanted to invade the North by land, one needed to pass Moat Cailin. Even with only three towers left standing, it commanded the causeway from all sides. 

“My sister feared attack from the south, didn’t she?” 

“I can not tell you, my lady.” 

“Why else try and rebuild this place,” Arya waved a hand to the otherwise empty countryside. “Funny that she fears the south when it was again the farther north where the danger comes from.” 

They decided to stop at Moat Cailin for the night; they may have a raven that Arya could use to update Sansa on their journey and fresh horses for them to use. Hot food and a softer bed wouldn’t hurt, and with this many workers, they have even had it for them. 

However, before they could even dismount their horses, a man waved them down. “Your Highness,” he said as he bowed for her. “I must ask that you come with me at once.” 

“Why? And how did you know who I was?” Arya narrowed her eyes at the man. They both were wearing cloaks and hidden the hilts of their swords. No one this far had seemed to realize who they were, so why had this man after only a moment? 

“I’ve been on the lookout for you, your highness. Her Highness ordered me to do so; she informed us that you were traveling to Winterfell and she’d hoped that you would stop here on your way.” 

With a glance towards Brienne, Arya nodded and dismounted. “You have news from my sister, then?” 

“Yes, your highness,” he told her as he had their horses taken away. “Please follow me this way.” 

They went into the heart of Moat Cailin, more and more workers around them. Laborers of all kinds, a group of masons were rebuilding the stone wall, carpenters building a large barracks and metalsmith hammering away on tools and weapons. 

“I wonder how Sansa is rebuilding Winterfell if all of her workers are here?” Arya asked aloud. “Surely, she doesn’t have that many men to spare?” 

“Not all of these men are from the North, your highness. We have men here from Pike, Highgranden, and the Vale.” 

But not King’s Landing. Finally, he brought her to a wooden building, new from the look of the wood. The man nodded to the door and bowed to her as she passed him. Gods, she hated that, hated it when people treated her like she was somehow better than them. Arya may be the sister to Kings and a Queen, but she hated being treated differently, even when she was a Lord’s daughter. 

There was a group of men standing around a table inside, shouting at each other — most where from Winterfell, the dark blue armor was beautiful to see finally again. A few of them she recognized from the Long Night, Knights of the Vale. A few had the colors of Hightower. 

“We have to retreat south!” One knight from High Grandern slammed his fist on the table. “Moat Cailin is a ruin, and there is no way we can hold them here!” 

Another man shook his head, “Where can we hold them? If they come passed the Neck, they can spread out into all of Westeros!” 

“The Twins-” 

“Fuck the Twins! The Riverlands are so far up that boy king’s ass that they could speak his shit for him!” 

She watched them for a moment as they all argued. If this many men were here, knights and soldiers both, who was at Winterfell? The North may have had an army, but it was a smaller one than she or Sansa would have wanted and not big enough that she should spilt it so much. Not only that, but there were too many minor lords at this table for Sansa to not be. Why not have all of them at Winterfell? 

A door slammed open on the other side of the room, causing all the arguing to stop. Arya blinked in surprise when she saw her brother standing there, looking more like wildling than anything else. He was wearing old worn armor, more leather than anything, and a poorly made cloak. He looked worse than she remembered two years ago. His hair was long and unruly; it looked like he gave up on keeping it neat. 

“Enough,” he growled. “This fighting is getting us nowhere. Queen Sansa ordered that we keep Moat Cailin and that’s the end of it.” 

“Jon,” Arya called out as she stepped out of the shadows. The men looked at her with suprise and those of the North paled as they dipped their heads. 

Jon’s eyes widen in shock and he rushed forward at once. He pulled her in tight and for a long moment, Arya felt like she was finally home. 

When he pulled back he looked her over, a smile breaking out on his face. “Look at you,” he said as he looked her over, “I thought you sailed off into the unknown.” 

“I did,” she said. “I left Westeros alone for a moment and come back with it in a million pieces.” 

Jon’s smile, as small as it was, disappeared completely. He nodded to the door he’d come from, “We must speak in private.” 

“Of crouse,” Arya agreed. “I, for one, want to know why you’re south of the Wall.” She nodded at Brienne, who bowed her head and left the barracks. 

Her brother led them down a narrow hallway, “I was the one that brought Sansa the news that wights were starting to become a problem beyond the Wall. It started small, a small group here and a couple there but soon they became entire bands of them hundreds at a time attacking wildings villages.” 

They entered a small room, Jon’s from the look of it. It had only a tiny fire pit in the center and a small table and a pile of furs for him to sleep. 

“Yara made it seem like Winterfell was about to fall when I spoke with her in Oldtown,” Arya muttered as they sat down. Jon brought over a jug over water for her and she gratefully took a drink. “The bitch wanted me to get angry with Bran over it.” 

Jon paused as he sat down before he sighed. He looked so old, Arya wondered if she looked the same. He spoke slowly like he didn’t wish to scare her like she hadn’t killed as many men as he had. “Arya…. I’ve been overlooking Moat Cailin for Sansa but the news from the Winterfell-” 

Arya’s eyes narrowed as she snapped, “Isn’t what?” 

“Sansa has forbidden any travel heading north of Moat Cailin,” Jon admitted. “Due to the siege of Winterfell from the White Walkers and their wights.” 

She stood at once, “Bullshit, she forbidden it! We need to be there right now! Winterfell is our home and if she thinks-” 

“And what will you do Arya,” Jon pointed out with a worn-down look on his face. “I’ve sent scouts and only one returned, Castle Cerwyn had already been taken! Karhold is lost and Bear Island hasn’t been heard from in over month. White Harbor sent their ships up the Knife, the few that they could as they too are starting to see more and more wights, but they couldn’t make land.” 

Arya shook her head, “We take the men and-” 

“You know as well as I that we don’t have enough men,” Jon pointed out. “We hadn’t then and we don’t now.” 

“So we just leave Sansa to die in Winterfell?” Arya glared at him, bearly keeping her voice from rising. “You want that? If we can’t take the army we can sneak in-” 

“I want to save her as much as you do,” Jon muttered. He pulled a letter from his cloak and handed it to her, “But she already said no and I won’t let you kill yourself trying to save her.” 

Arya took the letter and glanced over the words, Sansa had sent it to Jon only days ago and it painted a picture she didn’t want to see. It told of Castle Cerwyn, only a half a days ride from Winterfell, being overtaken and Sansa not being able to send any more people from the port there. It told them of a Winterfell company cut off and bearly holding on. It was the ending of the letter that had Arya gasping aloud. 

_I, Sansa of House Stark, Queen in the North and Lady of Winterfell, declare that my sister, Lady Arya Stark, my heir above all others._

* * *

_**Winterfell in the year 298 After The Conquest, Year Ten of Summer.** _

Catelyn knew that her husband loved his children.

He spent more time with them then most father’s and none had been fostered as they would or perhaps should have. She had demanded it, that was true. After Sansa had been born and Robb was still young she had told Ned that if that boy were to live here, as Ned had made it clear he would, then she would keep all of hers here as well. 

Later she realized that she hadn’t needed to demand it of him, he was glad to have done it. After being with him for so long she knew that while he’d never say so, he was pleased that he had the chance to know his children. His own mother had died when he was too young to know her. Then he’d gone to the vale and it had been too late to know his Lord father. He hadn’t seen Brandon or Lyanna more than a handful of times before their deaths. 

So even though his face was blank and calm she knew what their youngest, her wild Arya, had said had shaken him. It was in the slump of his shoulders and the hard clench of his jaw. Those gray eyes sharpened into steel. The fear of a father that had heard of the deaths of his children was clear as day. 

Arya had left soon after she’d spoken to them of the Boltons. She’d given her father a look when she left, one he returned with a tried nod. By the seven that look in her eyes were like daggers to her heart. Knowing Arya had gone through the things she spoke of, as undetailed as she’d had been, was awful. She refused to think of the fates of her sweet Robb and Rickon, her poor boys. 

“You have only asked me once about who she was,” Nedd said as he looked in the fire. They’d been sitting alone in silence for so long she’d wondered if he’d talk at all. “Only once.” 

“You made it clear you would not speak of it.” 

“Yes, I did, didn’t I?” Her husband fell forward, his elbows on his knees. “ I didn’t mean to-” Nedd sighed and looked over to her, “I should have told you long before now. You have a right to it.” 

“Will it make a difference in this war that Arya speaks of?” She sat in the chair next to him and pulled one of his hands into his. “If you don’t wish to tell, than I’ll continue as I have. It’s Robb and Rickon that I fear for. Sansa as-” 

“It matters,” he gripped her hand. “I-....” Nedd looked at their hands as he held her’s tight. “I swore an oath to his mother that I would keep him safe. Anyone knowing who she was would have put him in danger.” 

It burned to hear, knowing that her husband loved this woman enough to cause her so much pain. Loved her enough that he endured years of mockery about having a bastard that lived like his trueborn son. 

“Jon has my blood,” he said quietly. Still, her brave husband would not look at her in the eye. “That is no lie but he is not my bastard.” 

“What,” Catelyn gasped. She tugged her hand away, rising from her chair. “What do you mean?” He’d dragged someone else bastard into their home? If Jon had Nedd’s blood but wasn’t his….Could he be Brandon’s? No, the timing wouldn’t work, he’d been dead much too long- 

Nedd continued, rushing forward without care of his wife’s shock. “He is Lyanna’s.” 

Lyarra Stark was a ghost that he rarely spoke of. He’d told small stories about her when Arya was young and it was clear that their younger daughter was following her father more than her mother. Small things. How Lyarra rode a horse better than any man, tried to study the sword but couldn’t get their father to agree. Very early in their marriage he’d once given her a flower and told her that his sister had loved them. 

Never anything from after Nedd left for the vale, never anything about the tourney at Harrenhal and never anything about the nightmares of the Tower of Joy. 

But then- 

At once she collapsed on the bed. “Your sister’s?”

Nedd stared at the fire. “ Seven young men against three Kingsguard. I’ve never fought so hard, no battle is a match for that. Knowing that my sister’s life hung in the balance. We found her there, Howland Reed and I. She was so weak that she thought I was Father for a moment. Begged me-” 

He stopped when his voice hitched. 

She rose from her place on the bed and kneeled in front of him, making him meet her eyes. Such sadness was held in them that she felt tears rise in her own. Her husband was a great man but a man he was. He’d hidden his pain about Lyarra and she’d never asked because that’s what he needed to do. But no man felt nothing when half of his family was murdered and he wetness his sister’s death. 

“She could have lived,” his voice was low and rough but there were no tears in his eyes. “That is what I hate him for. He’d left her there with three Kingsguard but what good is that when one is dealing with a woman who is heavy with child?” 

It needed asking but she dreaded it. The answer would no doubt upset him and she wondered if the knowledge would even do her any good. “Is it his then?” 

“Yes,” He nodded slowly as he reached for her hand again. “I-” 

She didn’t snatch her hand away but it was a near thing. “ Do not say you are sorry when I know you are not.” 

“I swore to her I would keep him safe-” 

Now she did snatch it away as she stood. “You endangered us to do so! A Targaryen bastard-” 

He stood now too, his face grim. “He is a Stark. He has my blood in his veins, the same blood that my sister and our father had. Jon isn’t and by the Old Gods never will be a Targaryen.” 

Catelyn could almost hit him. “What good would that do if Robert were to find him here? He is your friend, even a brother but he found out that you’ve been hiding a Targaryan, even one with Stark blood, there is no telling what he would do.” 

“Why do you think I was letting him go to the Wall,” he said. “He’d be safe there, where no one would care that he is a bastard and he wouldn’t be part of any vile games that would get him killed.” 

She was shaking now, anger and pain racing through her veins. “Safe while those very games get our children are dead! Safe on that frozen wall while my sons are murdered!” 

At once Nedd’s face dropped before it set in determination, “I won’t let it happen.” He walked over and leaned his forehead against hers. “I swear by everything I am that I won’t let it happen again. We won’t let it happen.” 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was thinking about not finishing this fic since I rally only wrote to because I was mad but it is one of my most popular fics and some wrote some nice comments so I thought I'd at least finish this chapter lol 
> 
> I forgot how much I liked writing GOT stuff, there's just SO MUCH lore. 
> 
> Anyway if you guys like it enough I'll see about working on it while I finish COG

Winterfell in the year 298 After The Conquest, Year Ten of Summer.

Sometimes when she was tried, Arya forgot that where she was. It was often when she stayed up too late trying to master water dancing again because the memories of things that hadn’t happened demanded it. 

She’d been back now for almost a month but she still sometimes woke thinking she was in Harrenhal. Her room at Winterfell was smaller than the one she had but it was filled with things she’d long forgotten about. Toys that were given to her by her brothers and parents. Books she’d practice her reading on years ago. Rugs covered the stone floor so she wouldn’t feel the cold. 

The room in Harrenhal had been baren, the only thing she kept there were spare armor and weapons. There weren’t any books to read because books were more useful as kindling and she’d given any unnecessary furs to her soldiers so they could fight just a little more before the ice froze them. 

This morning was the worst since she’d come here. She’d stayed up later than her young body could handle. There hadn’t been any water dancing, she’d broken her wooden sword after all and instead had paced her room well into the night. 

All of it was things she’d already been thinking of but now she’d have to figure how just how much needed to be said. What to tell her parents? The War of the Five Kings was only the start. If Arya told them just how much Sansa had suffered while with the Lannisters her father wouldn’t deal with them and while she hated it they needed that manpower. Should she tell them how Jon had killed her? What of Little Finger when he has too much power to ignore? What of Daenerys? She may have gone mad but they needed her dragons. 

All night she paced and paced until her body couldn’t take anymore and she dropped. For a moment when she awoke, a longer moment than Arya wanted, she thought she was in her baren room before the fall of Harrenhal. Her family long gone, dead all besides a brother that she hated. There was a crown she’d never worn in her pack. Far down in the barracks, her knights were half-frozen and starved. Her lover sleeping beside her. 

But when she turned and reached for said lover the memories came crashing back to her. The gates of Harrenhal falling, a kiss filled with poison before all she could hear was the waves of the God’s Eye. How long had she drifted in the lake before hitting the Isle of Faces? Her mind hadn’t been completely whole from the poison, anger, and grief that had been running through her veins. It had been a single moment and an eternity. 

She shook it off the anger. Calm as still water. There were a million things Arya needed to fix without being upset about that as well. 

Arya dressed quickly and headed down to the hall. The talk she’d have with her parents had been short but she hadn’t wanted to be around when they talked about Jon. Her mother had always made it clear that she disliked him and now that she was older, in mind at least, she had a better understanding of why. Her mother was a proper southern lady after all and it was a huge insult to her that Jon lived so close to Robb, not to mention all the stories about bastards killing their true-born siblings. Jon would never do anything like that to Robb, they loved each other greatly and unlike Theon, Jon had never wavered from that. 

Still, that conversation wasn’t something she wanted to be apart of. 

Her parents weren’t downstairs when she entered to Hall. All of her siblings besides Rickon were already seated and talking among themselves as usual. 

Sansa looked up as Arya sat down across from her. “ Good morning,” she said quietly. Now that Arya hadn’t tried to pick on her she’d been nicer if standoffish. 

“Morning,” she said around a piece of bread. Her training made it that she was hungry all the time and now that she knew what true hunger was she refused to deny herself like some ladies did. 

“You’re late,” Bran told her from down the table with a frown. “You know that mother wants us up early.” 

Sansa may have been nicer but Bran hadn’t taken too well with being ignored by her. At meals, he’d taken to trying to pick fights with her. Nothing half as bad as the thing her and Sansa once got up to and she never took the bait. It would take time but as off right now Bran still reminded her too much of Bran the Broken and if she tried to engage with him he would get an Arya Stark that he wouldn’t like. 

“Mother knows why I’m late,” Arya said. 

Vayon Poole, Jeyne’s father, and her father’s steward cleared his throat at the end of the table. The table quieted down. Vayon ofter carried messages to them from their father and with him not being here that was most likely the case. “Lord and Lady Stark won’t be available today, anything requiring their attention should be brought to me, Maester Luwin or Septa Mordane. Lord Robb you are going to be meeting with Luwin about seeing to a few meetings with the heads of household and Lady Arya you are to meet with them as soon as the meal is done.” 

Her siblings were giving her looks, besides Robb who was surprised that their father was having him take over such things. He’d done so before but with the King only a week away it was surprising that he’d done so. 

“You did get in trouble,” Bran laughed at her. “ I told you so!” 

She ignored him, eating without tasting. It was unsurprising that her father was dropping his meetings. Afterall his daughter had just told him in a few years’ time most of his children were dead. Would her mother be there? She too was busy with the Kings visit but Sansa wasn’t old enough to take over such meetings yet. 

Without another word, Arya took another apple from the table and started off to her father’s solar. As eat it as she went, wondering how her parents were going to act. They believed her but did they understand? She was twenty-four summers, an adult that had seen more war than her father had and had killed more people that lived in this castle. She’d seen what was west of Westeros and seen a dragon take a city. 

No, that would take time. She knocked lightly on her father’s door. Father’s always seen their daughters as little girls, even without her…. Circumstances. Her own once given Sansa a doll when she’d been nearly fourteen summers after all. 

“Come in.” 

Her mother was here as well, perhaps she’d gotten someone else to handle her things? Her parents were both tried, her father looked like he once had when he’d been made Hand of the King. Dark circles under his eyes and a more stern look on his face. Her mother hides it better than him, looking as pretty as she always was. Yet Arya could still see it, mostly in the way she held herself a tad tighter than usual. 

They stared at each other for a moment, Arya unclear on where to start. “You still believe me right?” She asked suddenly. “You didn’t convince yourself otherwise.” 

Her father’s face became even grimmer and her mother’s hands tighten from where they were clasped together. “Yes,” he said. “We still believe you.” 

“Good.” 

Another silence. Was this what was in store for her now? Awkward silences from her parents? She didn’t wish to scare them and her real self no doubt would. Even with her father’s lies about Jon, he was still the most honor bond person she’d ever known and Arya Stark of Winterfell wasn’t known for that. She was a killer, a murder if need be. The masks she once wore were a form of lies, weren’t they? Her mother hadn’t ever been truly comfortable with her like she’d been with Sansa, Arya was too northern for her, but could she love someone like her? 

It didn’t matter, Arya steeled herself. What her parents or siblings thought of her didn’t matter at all as long as they lived and were happy. 

“We have to go to King’s Landing,” Arya said. She let her Young Arya mask slip away, at all but enough that her parents could see the difference. Her shoulders went back and she clasped her hands behind her back. “I know you probably don’t want too but-” 

“You said your father was killed when he went south,” her mother pointed out with a frown. “We should just say no to the king and stay here.” 

Arya shook her head. This was one of the things she’d thought of a lot after all. “If it was just stopping the war then I’d agree with you. In order to survive, we need the south and their armies. This is bigger than the North!” 

“You said the kingdom is about to be at war,” Nedd said. “ How are we to bring it together so quickly? The Lannisters want us dead and the Grayjoys will never help us.” 

“They don’t want us dead at the moment. As much as I hate them, they are the most powerful family in Westeros. That means we should at least try and deal with them” Arya said carefully. 

Her mother’s glare wasn’t enough for Arya to back down, Sansa’s would be worse in a couple of years and even than wasn’t enough. She’d felt almost bad that her mother lost that effect on her. “They killed your brothers!” 

“They killed your mother,” her father growled. “Hadn’t you told us that? That they paid for my son and wife to be killed at a wedding?” 

Fire everywhere, screaming and singing, the hound showing the bearest of compassion as he grasped her face to his armor so she would stop seeing. Gray Wind’s head and her mother’s body thrown in a river. Sansa’s scars were from the Lannisters were plenty as well. 

Calm as still water. 

“I know exactly what the Lannisters paid for,” Arya said blankly. “Know that the White Walkers are worse. So long as Cersei Lannister doesn’t take Tywin’s place. Tywin is an evil man, don’t misunderstand, but as long as we don’t go to war with him and prove that the White Walkers are real enough to harm his legacy he’ll help.” 

“You say as if you know him,” Nedd shook his head at her. “Tywin Lannister isn’t someone to be trusted!” 

“No one with power is,” she said. How anyone thought her father would do well in the south was beyond her. “But you have to admit that before the Mad King made him leave he kept the kingdom in check. I hate him but he’s useful enough for me not to kill him.” 

“Fine,” Cat agreed. “How do we get closer to the Lannisters then?” Her face when she said those words was like if she’d smelled something foul and Arya couldn’t blame her. 

“We don’t have to deal with Tywin directly. Cersei, Jaime, and Tyrion are all going to be here with the King. I believe that Jaime is our best bet, Tywin hates the emp and Cersei isn’t useful to us at all.” After all, she’d seen Cersei not send her army to Winterfell just to spit them. 

“The King Slayer,” her father sighed. “As if he’s better than his father.” 

Arya shrugged, “ Honestly once he got away from his sister he wasn’t that bad. Or maybe it was from losing his hand? I know a way of breaking him away from his sister but I think you should talk to him while he’s here. He respects you a lot from what I hear.” 

There were no strong feelings for the man, good or ill but Brienne had truly loved him and even though he’d left her at the end, her friend deserves another chance at it. Maybe if they had met sooner and Jaime had someone else on his side he wouldn’t have gone back to his sister. How to get Brienne to King’s Landing was something she hadn’t thought of yet. 

“Why?” He looked confused and a little angry at the idea that the King Slayer, the biggest oath breather in the seven kingdoms respects him. 

“Swordsmen ship for one,” she told him. Brienne never liked to talk about her lover but in a siege, there was little to do besides talk and soon enough even Arya was bored enough to speak about past lovers. “He thinks that you are honorable as well, he wishes he could be so.” 

“The King Slayer?” her mother questioned her. “Truly?” 

“He once said that no matter what you do you're forsaking one vow or another when you’re a knight. He picked to break the oath that saved the most lives.” 

Nedd Stark didn’t scoff as a rule but he came close. “He swore an oath-” 

“To defend the king and obey the king.” Arya nodded in agreement. “But also to protect the innocent and defend the weak. What if the King massacres the innocent? The Mad King killed all kinds of innocent people and all the King’s Guard had to watch and do nothing. But what about when the innocents are all of King’s Landing? Jaime Lannister may be a murderer but I’ll take him over Cersei any day.” 

“What do you mean ‘all of King’s Landing.’ What was he planning,” her mother asked. “Surely he wouldn’t set fire to his own city?” 

Arya simply looked at her. “The Targaryens love their fire. From what I understand there is still Wildfire in King’s Landing, enough to blast over one hundred ships to pieces and have enough left over for Cersei to blast the Great Sept to rubble.” 

“Seven hells!” Nedd stood from his desk. He looked so much like Jon had in the latter part of the siege at Moat Cailin, angry about how there wasn’t anything he could do. “Every time you tell us more about the future there is some new horror that we have to deal with! First, my children and wife are killed or taken prisoner in the war that is almost here and now you tell me that Cersei Lannister blows up the sept? How much more is there?” 

“There is much more,” Arya sighed. “There is so much death coming that it’s hard to even begin. The War of Five Kings and the Long Night aren’t the only wars left to wage. Cersei can not be allowed any more power than she already has or she’ll burn down everyone in her path. Right now Daenerys Targaryen is a girl about to be traded away so her brother can get an army. In a year she’ll be the Mother of Dragons and in four she’ll have an army of eight thousand Unsullied warriors.” 

Silence once again. 

“More is going to change in the next few years than in the past thousand. Magic is going to come back to this world.” Arya told her shocked parents. “ I’ve seen it, lived it. I’ve seen dragons fly across Westeros and I’ve traveled to the House of Black and White. There is so much that I need to change, that WE need to change. If we can’t Winterfell and the rest of Westeros will fall to the White Walkers.” 

“Dragons,” her mother whispered. She glanced over at her husband before she took a breath. “One thing at a time, there isn’t much we can do about that since the Targaryen girl is in Essos but Arya is right. We need to try and form better ties with other noble houses.” 

She still didn’t know what she wanted to about Daenerys anyway. The mother of dragons wouldn’t come over to Westeros for years but they couldn’t want that long until they did something about her. She, like the Lannisters, was much too useful to kill outright. That she would also free slavers bay wasn’t something Arya could ignore either. 

“The Tyrells are a good place to start,” Arya said. “I never dealt with them but King Baelor Hightower always spoke very highly of them.” 

“I’m going to ignore the fact that Sir Baelor is a king,” Nedd said with a wince. “Mace Tyrell isn’t as bad as Tywin but he isn’t what I would call helpful.” 

“Oh no the man is a moron,” Arya agreed. “But his wife, Alerie I believe, is Baelor’s sister. From what I understand Olenna Tyrell is the one who runs the family.” 

“The Queen of Thorns,” Cat noted. “She’s been sparking outrage in courts long before even I was born.” 

Arya hesitated for a moment. “Sansa ... also spoke very highly of them. From what I understand Sansa became close to Margaery during her stay at King’s Landing.” Truly she had in her own way. At that point, Sansa spoke highly or kindly of no one, her once warm sister colder to everyone that wasn’t family. Yet when the subject of Queen Cersei and her time in King’s landing had come up her sister had mentioned how, while the Tyrells had used her, they were kind about it. High praise from Sansa. 

“Margery is Mace’s only daughter is she not?” Her mother asked. “What was she doing in King’s Landing?” 

“She married Joffrey but he died at the wedding feast. Got poisoned I believe. Cersei blamed the imp for it but no one else really believed her.” Best not to mention that Sansa had also been blamed for it. Or that later Brienne told her about how before her death Olenna confessed that she’d done it. 

Her parents didn’t need to know about the more shady doings. 

“We could arrange for Sansa to marry Loras, while the Knight of Flowers is very well known he is only the third son,” Cat pondered. 

Arya shrugged but kept the thought about how much her sister had hated everything related to marriage to herself. At the least, she wouldn’t be marrying Tyrion or Ramsay. Surly Sansa would rather marry Loras? Everyone knew about his love for other men but that was better than Ramsay and this way she’d be in High Garden. 

“At the least, we should try and trade more with them,” Arya said. “They aren’t the richest family but they are getting damn close.” 

“The Lannisters and the Tyells,” Her father said in disbelief. “What's next? A plan to get Balon Greyjoy?”

“Of course not,” Arya let a small smile though. “Balon would never join us, he hates the Starks enough that he’d sooner die by the White Walkers. No Balon won’t work at all, we need a new Grayjoy on the Seastone Chair.” 

“We can’t just throw Theon back to them,” Nedd said with a shack of his head. “He may think he’s an Ironborn but-” 

“No, no, not Theon. If anything we need to make sure Theon never sees his father ever again,” she said. Better not tell them about how far Theon could fall. The man wasn’t fit to lead, he’d break under it. If they found out what Theon did to Robb they may push him right into trying to go to his father. He may not want his son but the captains didn’t need others trying to get the Seastone Chair once it’s time. 

“Then who?” 

“Yara Greyjoy, Captain of the Black Wind.” 

“You want a woman to take over Pike,” her mother gasped. She began to shake her head, “I know that you love stories about Nymeria and Visenya but-” 

“When Balon died they had to call a Kingsmoot and she almost won,” Arya said sternly. “Yara is well respected among the captains. Euron Greyjoy won instead and he is a complete madman by even the Ironborn standard. I’ve seen what she can do if given the chance to rule. She is the only reason I’m standing here now.” 

“How are we to help her then,” her father asked in confusion. “Surely if we help her outright that would only hurt her with her men?” 

“We don’t help her,” Arya said suddenly as she thought of it. “If we can get her to Winterfell then she can convince Theon to give up on going back to Pike to rule. If he abdicated then Balon will make her his heir, he already treats her like she is but having it be known may be enough that she’d win a Kingsmoot if one is called.” 

“You are talking about taking away his birthright,” Nedd pointed out. 

She thought it over for a few moments, careful with what she said. “I will not tell the details but know that Theon Greyjoy can not ever be a leader. He can’t handle it, at least not longer than a battle. He’s torn between us and them because no one will let him forget that he’s a Greyjoy but he thinks of himself as a Stark.” 

Her mother paused and she looked at Arya with a look of anger. “What did he do? What did he do that was bad enough that he shouldn’t lead?” 

She said nothing but that was enough for her mother to go on. 

“If he hurt my son-” 

Nedd cut her off, “Theon isn’t worse than everyone else that Arya is telling us to try and trust.” He turned to his daughter. “But you are not telling us what it is that he did, why?” 

“I believe that if Theon doesn’t see his father and isn’t put under the pressers of war like he had been he won’t do what he did. He was punished for it, at any rate, punished more than he needed. What matters is in the end he fought and died for our family in Winterfell. Knowing what he did will only cause you to keep wondering if he’ll do it again.” 

Her father nodded and looked at his wife. They looked into each other's eyes for a moment before she sighed with a nod. “Then we, I, should speak with him. Try and show him that while his name is not Stark he will always be welcome in Winterfell.” 

“Now, who's next?” Cat asked weary.


	9. Chapter 9

Winterfell in the year 298 After The Conquest, Year Ten of Summer.

“How much do you think she is hiding from us,” his wife asked him as they readied for bed. 

Ned paused as he laid down, looking at Cat as she stared off in the small brazen mirror in their room. She’d been quiet for some time now. Arya had been speaking with them for almost the entire day, they had stopped only for dinner. 

“A lot I think,” he answered her. 

This woman, this Arya, that had replaced his daughter was a stranger to him. Seeing the way she held herself, how she spoke. It scared him greatly. Hearing how his children and his home could bee destroyed was frightening to any man but it was seeing the changes in his young wolf pup that had him disquieted. Hearing about so much horror was different than seeing a dead-eyed Arya say that she’d visited the House of Black and White. 

“I fear to ask about more,” she confessed. “Hearing all of that and then she tells us to make friends with them?” 

“If what she says is true then we will need their help. Can we hold something that didn’t happen against them?” 

She glared at him from her place at the mirror. “If it is the death of my children? Yes.” 

“We must put that aside,” he said. “If we are to hold this kingdom together enough for winter.” 

The Tyrells were one thing as Mace Tyrell was not a man he respected in the least. He’d spoke of his victory at the Battle of Ashford, as long as King Robert wasn’t insight when it was well known that Lord Tarly had most of the victory before the man’s arrival. He’d even boasted on about his siege on Storm’s End. As if feasting in front of starving men was something to boast about. Marrying Sansa in that man’s family wasn’t something that he wanted in the least. 

And the Lannisters? Tywin Lannister may have not murdered the Targaryen children with his own hands but the deaths of Rhaenys and Aegon Targaryen rested on his shoulders. Even if he had not ordered it the fact that The Mountain That Rides was still a knight was enough. The King Slayer had sworn a vow to protect his king's life with his own and then he opened that king's throat with a sword. Tyrion was the most honorable of the whole lot and he was still a drunken Imp who was well known for his love of whores. 

“Winter is Coming,” Cat said with a scoff. “I just wish we didn’t need them.” 

“Neither do I.” 

A moment of silence passed, his wife brushed her hair and he simply watched her do so. He expected her to be angry with him and while she had been it had seemed to pass since last night. He didn’t wish to ask about it, lest he upset her again. The unrest he felt from Arya was simply too much to handle without Catelyn by his side. 

“I will write to Lord Mace,” she said suddenly. Her blue eyes weren’t clouded with lost thoughts any longer and she stared at him in the mirror with intent. “The seven knowns that I don’t want Sansa in the south but at the very least the Knight of Flowers would make a fine husband for her.” 

Sansa did love the stories of knights and from what he had heard Loras, while mainly a tourney jouster, was still a true one. The man surely had a great wealth stashed away from his tourney winnings. That he was the third son mattered since he was from such a powerful family, he had no lands to his name now but that could change if he so desired. 

“There is still Willas,” Ned told her. “From what Renly says the man is mild and courtly. He is also the heir to Highgarden.” 

His wife shook her head, “He is also a crippled man. I do not wish such a position onto Sansa, she may wish for life at court but having a crippled husband will have her fending off whispers for her whole marriage.” 

He nodded his agreement, his wife no doubt knew better than him about courts in the south after all. 

“Good,” she nodded. “That brings to Robb.” 

“Robb?” He asked confused. “You wish Robb to be married as well?” 

“I want to start letting Robb lead more and try to prepare him.” Catelyn corrected. “With you leaving to the south he will rule in your stead. I will be here to help him but with what Arya speaks of…. We will need to do much and getting others to agree to do so will be difficult.” 

“Aye,” he sighed. “I should be here for it too.” 

“And I would rather you here.” Cat stood and began to blow out the candles around their room. “I loth that you and the girls are riding south, where Arya has already seen so much death for us.” 

“Robb needs you here,” he said as soft as he could. “He needs your help in getting the lords to answer to him. He is still young-” 

“Yet he was made king less than a year from now,” she said as she laid down. “My poor son, bearly even a man, seeing battle and leading men to their deaths. 

He pulled her in close, his chest to her back and held her tight. Ned couldn’t see her face but knew how frightened she was from the beating of her heart. “It won’t happen,” he said into her fine red hair. “I will say so as much as you need but our children will be safe.” 

“You can’t hold that promise,” she whispered back. “ You can’t know.” 

“I can’t,” he admitted. “ But I will try with all my might.” 

They laid there in the darkness for what seemed like hours. Neither was asleep, his wife’s breath never evened out and she kept a tight grip on his arm around her waist. His mind wandered around and around, never staying put long enough for him to quite it. 

It used to be that his nightmares were of The Tower, his sister begging him to keep her son safe. He hadn’t slept long last night because now it was of Winterfell covered in deeper snow than he’d ever seen and at the center of it all, his wife, covered in blood begging him to save their children but they were already dead. 

“I wonder if knowing it all would be better than not,” Catelyn whispered in the dark. “Arya doesn’t wish to tell us but not knowing is driving me mad. It is making me question every person I can think of. Knowing that the Boltons and Freys would betray both our families….I never thought of them as honorable, never that. But to violate the laws of hospitality? I can’t forget that Ned.” 

“I’ve heard rumors from the Dreadfort, that Roose practices the abolished tradition of the first night. No man nor woman would step forth but the rumors seemed to have merit,” he said. 

“Horrible men,” she sat up with a sigh. “Horrible men that we must form an alliance with.” 

Even in the dark, he could see the dark circles forming under her eyes. With Robert expected almost any day now the whole of Winterfell was up in arms and his wife had been leading it until Arya. 

“If that alliance saves our children, I will make it.” He swung his feet out bed and went about lighting a candle, there was to be no sleep for him tonight. “ If that is what saves them, saves you, I will deal with the King Slayer and his whole lot. Even that fool Mace.” 

“I fear for them so,” Cat said from the bed. “I always have but now….Robb dead by betrayal, Sansa left to the cruelty of the Lannister, Rickon murdered on the field as a boy and Arya watching it all. She has said nothing of Bran and nothing about what happened to Sansa after the Lannisters.” 

“Arya also hasn’t spoken much about the White Walkers since that first night,” Ned said with a frown. “It seems like she tells us only enough for us to help her but nothing else.” 

“I understand that it must be painful but I keep trying to fill in all of the middle pieces. What Theon did, what happened to Sansa, why Arya would visit it the House of Black and White?” 

“Aye, I wonder that myself,” Ned said as he sat at his desk. “ To hear her speak of Cersei destroying the Great Sept off-handedly…. Not mention the dragons. I at once want to know more but I can not force her too.” 

“Dragons,” she muttered to herself.

He pulled out his parchment and began to write. If he could not sleep he would try and work until his eyes closed on their own. Robb could handle his meetings, practice for when he would rule in Ned’s stead when he had to ride south. 

“Who are you writing?” Catelyn asked. 

“Arya hasn’t told us much about the White Walkers,” he said as he dipped his pen in ink. “But maybe there is some information out there about them. Surely something must have survived, if they were really the cause of the Long Night like the stories then they already marched through most of Westeros. I don’t expect proof of them, but anything is better than nothing.” 

“The North is not known for its books and libraries,” she pointed out. “So many of it’s stories are only ever told and sung.” 

“I will be writing to the Citadel as well. If there is a book about magic or the White Walkers then they will have it.” 

“A fine idea,” Cat agreed. “I think I’ll start on my own letters to the Tyrells.” 

  
Moat Cailin Year 310 After The Conquest, Year 5 of Winter.

“You are a damn coward,” Arya growled at Jon. Rage was boiling under her skin and she had to remind herself to keep calm. All her control was being used to not just slap her brother senseless. 

“Arya,” he begged with a sigh. “Listen, I wish we could help but-” 

“But nothing,” she snapped. “I listened to you for a fortnight! I sat here while our home was attacked by the White Walkers but I can’t wait here any longer! Sansa needs us-” 

“Winterfell is surrounded by White Walkers and wights! There is no way in or out and we don’t have the men to break their line. Sansa ordered no one to march for Winterfell and I will follow that order.” 

“So I’m to leave Sansa to her death?” Arya shook her head with a scoff, “ I can’t believe that you would leave her there for the White Walkers. Bad enough that Bran won’t send help but I- I thought better of you.” 

“Sansa made her choice to not leave Winterfell,” Jon said softly. He didn’t try to hold her and she was glad for it because with the rage inside her she may have broken his hand, brother or not. “Maybe she will still make it out, I don’t know. I am simply following her orders, any men you take will just end up adding to their numbers at any rate. You have to believe that I want you safe-” 

“My life is not more important than hers,” she snapped back. “ Just because you killed one Queen doesn’t mean you can sit by and let another die.” 

Jon staggered back, his eyes, father’s eyes, wide and full of pain. Never had she lashed out at him so badly but she only felt the smallest of remorse for it. 

In the moment of hurt silence, he simply stared at her, waiting on her to apologize to him. She knew how badly he’d taken his Queen’s death after all. The years hadn’t stopped that at all. BUt she didn’t apologize, couldn’t because it would mean that he was right about leaving Sansa to her fate. 

Instead, she turned and left the war room. She needed to train. Brienne had taken to training any one with a sword out in the practice yard and would be the only one in this blasted place that could prove a challenge. 

Arya could just order the men here to follow her, she was a princess and Sansa’s heir after all. But she needed more than those Stark men and Jon’s wildings, while still not enough, would never follow her without him. 

“Princess Arya!” a young man in Stark house colors flagged her down. “Please you must follow me at once!” 

“What is it,” she asked as he ran across the keep. “What is going on?” 

“News from Winterfell,” he panted. “A single man came in, greatly injured. He said he carried a letter from Queen Sansa and would give it to no one but you.” 

Dread starting building in her gut than but she ignored it for now. Please not be the letter she thought it to be. 

They came to the small healing hut they had built and there was a group of men already milling about outside of it. The group quieted down at the sight of her, bowing their heads but said nothing. Brienne stood at the doorway to keep them outside, her face grim and dark. It seemed that they thought the same as her. 

Inside the hut the man was on the edge of death and was refusing treatment, eyes rolling across the room wildly. He was covered in blood and looked half mad, though he must have been a knight by the look of his armor. 

“A message,” he muttered. “For the princess…” 

“I’m here,” she said as she knelt down beside him. “You brought me a letter from my sister?” 

“Princess Ayra,” the man’s eyes went wide. “I swore to bring it, I swore to the Red Wolf, I did.” He reached into his bag and his hands shook as he did so, the bag was covered in his blood. The dread in her stomach turned hard and cold when he showed her Sansa’s crown, the silver wolves bright and shining the tents candlelight. 

“Winterfell has fallen,” came the man’s expected words. “The Red Wolf had it lit in flames as when they broke the walls….” 

“My sister,” she started to demand, “Where is she? She couldn’t have simply stayed?” 

The knight shook his head, his eyes becoming dull. His time wasn’t long now, “She did your highness. She commanded us to the last. I- we all tried to make her leave- but she would-would not.” 

“No,” Arya growled low in her throat. She stood and walked away from the dying man, and she refused to pick up the crown, “No, I won’t accept that-”   
  
“Your Majesty,” Brienne said from the doorway. “Please remain calm.” 

It wasn’t Brienne's command that froze her but her address. 

“Don’t ever call me that again,” she snapped. “I’m no queen-” 

“Queen Sansa named you her heir,” the older woman reminded her. “By all rights and laws, you are now Queen of the North.” 

“The North? Winterfell has fallen, there is no North!” Arya’s rage had been building ever since she’d heard that the White Walkers were seen again. “ Because for some un-fucking-known reason the White Walkers are somehow still killing my people and rising wrights even though I killed the Night King. There is no North because one brother gave no aid and I listened to the other.” 

“Moat Cailin and Greywater haven’t yet fallen-” 

“A broken castle and a castle no one has ever seen?” Arya scoffed aloud. “The White Walkers will crush us as soon as they make it here.” 

“And you would simply let them?” Brienne demanded. “Most of the North has been lost but you would let them simply take what little remains? Maybe the Neck isn’t Winterfell but it is part of the North. I came with you because I was sworn to your sister but yet again I was too late, as I was with your lady mother. I am sworn to you as well-” 

“Then shouldn’t you tell me to leave this place,” she said scowl. “If you wish to be sworn to me then you should be glad I leave all this Queen shit behind!” 

“I refuse to believe that you could leave what little of the North is left to them.” Brienne picked up the crown, wiping the poor knight’s blood off of it. She came before Arya with a grim look, “You don’t want it but you will lead them, as long as you are able and with the best of your ability.” She slowly lowered the crown. 

Brienne kneeled before her, “Queen Arya of House Stark, The Queen of the North. Long may you reign.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in one day, please be proud of me


	10. Chapter 10

Moat Cailin Year 310 After The Conquest, Year 5 of Winter.

The words had broken quiet of the room suddenly, “How long are you going to ignore him?” 

“I thought you weren’t allowed to question me now that I’m your queen?” Arya snapped back before she took a long drink of ale. She needed it when Brienne wanted to be friends. “You swore an awful lot to me and I think that was in there somewhere.” 

“As your knight and queens guard I swore to defend those who cannot defend themselves, to obey you and to fight bravely when needed. I don’t believe questions were involved at all, your majesty.” 

“Maybe I’ll add it in there next time. But until then how about you stay out of my business.” Arya rolled her eyes as she drank her ale and wrote her letters. “Your majesty she says,” she muttered under breath “… Blah.” 

Brienne said nothing from her place at her side. She’d done her unspoken duty for the day and wouldn’t speak again unless asked, as it had been now for three weeks. Like many around Arya, she acted as though she feared her queen would be set off at any minor thing. As if their ride from King’s Landing meant nothing now that Arya wore her sister’s crown on her head. So what if she refused to speak to Jon? 

There were other things to worry about other than Jon anyway. It had been three very long weeks. Sansa may have started rebuilding Moat Cailin months ago but a broken castle was still a broken castle and with the news that Winterfell had fallen people started rushing passed them. Not many wished to test the crumbling walls. 

There was still hold outs north of them. Hornwood, protected by the Sheep head hills to the north and west, still stood. It had been a stopping point for many that had left Winterfell. House Hornwood had been given the Dreadfort by Sansa but thanks to lack of manpower they hadn’t been able to fortify it enough before the wights had forced them to focus on Hornwood. Ramsgate and Rillwater Crossing both still stood as well. They, however, could give her nothing, they were using everything they had to defend themselves. Arya couldn’t argue with that, though she had sent a letter telling them that they should fall back to Moat Cailin with her. Neither castles could hold out if anything near what attacked Winterfell came their way. 

Thankfully White Harbor hadn’t yet been attacked. Lord Manderly had sent a raven to Moat Cailin at the news of Winterfell but he was unable to meet with her himself as the roads were unsafe. White Harbor hadn’t yet seen much from the White Walkers, however, the waters of the White Knife, half of which flowed past just a bit south of Winterfell and into the Wolfwood, had started to turn black with ash. 

With the ash of what Arya didn’t ask and Lord Manderly didn’t say. 

White Harbor sent all that they could, which was a great deal, besides their soldiers. They needed them to man the walls and as they sent shiploads of masons, carpenters and smiths Arya didn’t mind. At the moment she didn’t need soldiers. No, what she needed was supplies and the men to build up Moat Cailin before the blasted wights crossed the White Knife and regrouped to attack the south again.

“So this is the Queen of the North,” came a bored voice from her doorway. “You are a bit shorter than I thought.” 

“Lady Grayjoy,” Arya greeted in her best court voice and without looking up from her papers. “What an honor it is to have you.” 

Queen Yara sat down in front of her, sprawling in the chair like she owned the place. The Iron born must have just come back from the sea, Arya could smell the salt from her cloak. She wasn’t surprised that the queen had come, in fact, she was only surprised that the woman hadn’t shown up sooner. She was one of her sister’s biggest supporters and the only one who could venture to Moat Cailin so quickly. No doubt she was here on behalf of others as well. 

Anyway, she’d done this whole song and dance when Arya had seen her in Old Town months ago as well. Yara liked to be brash and it made many uncomfortable seeing a woman be so bold. It was a simple tactic but one that Arya had to admit worked, she’d done it herself after all. She couldn’t do it as well as the other woman did but she, at least, wouldn’t let it work on her.   
So instead she continued to read, ignoring the other woman completely. Brienne to her right became tenser and tenser as the silence lasted. 

Finally, Yara broke first. Her dark eyes turned serious. “I’m sorry for the loss of your sister. She was- well a bit of a bitch really but a fine queen.” 

Brienne had reached for her sword the moment the word bitch came out of the woman’s mouth and stepped forward immediately, “Do not insult Queen Sansa in my presence.” 

“It’s alright Brienne,” she waved her knight away. “Why don’t you go brother Jon for the night? I believe I need to speak with my guest.”   


Winterfell in the year 298 After The Conquest, Year Ten of Summer.

The next couple of days were almost freeing for Arya. After that first day of talking with her parents, they’d all sent the next day planning as much as they could. She tried to keep an open mind about who she suggested holding an alliance with, weighing the worth of what they could bring vs what they had done. Maybe she shouldn’t hold things that never happened against them but she would be a fool to ignore it. 

Finally, they had a small list of people they wanted to pull in. There was the Tyrell which Arya was the surest of; they protected their own and if Sansa married in they would protect her as well. The only doubt that lingered was if Sansa would be happy with it since Loras’s love for men was pretty well known. Brienne had once spoken to her about when Arya had asked and the knight had confirmed it outright. Still, passionless marriage wasn’t the worst thing in this world. 

Jaime Lannister was one that she would have to watch very closely. He’d come to Winterfell when it was needed, that was true, but he had still gone to King’s Landing to be with his sister at the end. With all his children still alive there was no telling if he would ever break away from her. The entire plan of using the Lannisters long term rested on that. Tywin would help if they proved of the White Walkers but he was still self-centered enough that he would use any possible opening to help his house and his house alone. 

And seven hells the more she tried to think about the Greyjoy plan the more she wanted to pull her hair out. If the King Slayer was full of what-ifs and doubts then Theon and Yara were something else. It had sounded so simple when she first thought of it. Yara would no doubt press Theon into giving up his right, she wanted it for herself and never hid that. But it had taken Ramsey to make him give it up the first time. Arya wouldn’t wish that on him again. 

Even if Arya thought Theon had a chance to lead the Ironborn, which she didn’t, Yara would rain down hell over it. Yara loved Theon but wouldn’t ever stand behind him if it came down to it, her pride would not allow that. It could go in any number of ways. So she kept that issue in the back of her mind as her father had already sent a letter to be given to the Black Wind when she next ducked back into port. 

In the dark, as she lay in bed Arya started to make a new list. This was not a list of allies and she didn’t share it with her parents. It was a list of people that needed to die. She had to work with some of the people she hated most but not these. It was limited this time around. If she was to kill them it had to be because they would hinder her plans for the Long Night, not because of what they did in her past life. 

Joffrey and Ramsey were the first names on the list and the easiest to add. Neither had any real power at the moment and both would never add anything to the war effort. Joffrey sparked off a war simply because he could and while Ramsey was smarter than that he was also a mad man that hunted girls down with his dogs. 

Littlefinger was added next. He had too many plans, his reach too big. Yet none of it was worth anything against the White Walkers. Secrets and whores wouldn’t stop them. He was at once too powerful and too weak, all of his power only worked towards his own goal. 

After much thought, she added Cersei Lannister again. It would be hard because she was the queen and highly protected and if she killed Joffrey and his mother people would no doubt think someone was trying to kill the royal family. Cersei was too much of a wild card to let stay in power, she was just a calmer Joffrey when she was angry. 

How and when she was doing to kill these people she didn’t know and she couldn’t plan for the deaths either. Too much could change in the time it took to get to King’s Landing. Her list used to be a comfort to her a long time ago but she no longer whispered it as she tried to sleep. Instead, it only seemed to worry her even more. 

Not only that but her nightmares had gotten worse once she began talking to her parents. Maybe it was from their questions or their shock over things Arya had long since been numb too. The nightmares were varied, coving anything and everything since that moment in King’s Landing when Syrio Forel told her to run. 

So she trained and planned. Her parents now knew about her so there was no real reason to perpend to go about what Young Arya would be doing. Once Arya would have followed the boys around the yard instead she was now hidden away in her room, training at late hours. Her body was too young to really build the muscles she needed but the instincts could be built faster.No longer did she bother going to the lessons with Septa Mordane. Needlework was something she would never use and truthfully Arya Stark would never ever be a Lady like her mother or sister. 

She’d made peace with that years ago. 

Instead, she closed herself up in the library tower and tried to find something, anything, about the White Walker that she didn’t already know. Long hours she’d poured over the texts yet there was nothing. The only things she could find were the tales that Old Nan would tell them. What little there of them were things she already knew. She already knew that frozen fire and dragon steel were now called dragon Glass and valyrian steel. 

It was when she got frustrated and went to read about the Night King that she became confused. After all, Bran had told them all about the beginnings of the monster. A normal human man that had been transformed into the cold beast by the Children of the Forest. 

Yet that was not what these tales said at all. 

All the stories, no matter how much they differed, all had the same major parts. A Lord Commander of the Night's Watch falls in love with a woman with skin as white as the moon and eyes like blue stars. He loses, or gives in some versions, his soul to her and takes the title of Night's King. They then ruled the Nightfort as their own castle for thirteen years before a King of Winter and a King-Beyond-the-Wall joined forces to defeat him. 

But why would Bran lie about where the Night King came from? Why hide it? Was this why it hadn’t mattered that Arya had killed him in the godswood? Yet what did it matter if the stories were right since the Night King had still started as a man? 

King Robert would be here tomorrow and her parents were no doubt very busy but she knocked on the door of her father’s solar anyway. 

“Come in.” 

Her father’s desk was covered in papers and letters from all over the north. Nobles from all over wanted to see the King while he was here, as they rarely had a chance to see royalty. That left her father to try and get as many in and out as possible. A huge task when they never got many visitors. 

“Arya, what is it?” Lord Stark looked warn. He never liked this part of being Lord of Winterfell. 

She didn’t beat around the bush. “Do you know the story of the Night King?” 

“What?” 

“The Night King, the story where a Commander of the Night's Watch fucks a strange woman and becomes a monster?” 

He winced a little at her language but she was too worked up to care, she needed answers.“Yes,” he answered. “I heard the story as a child. I’m sure Old Nan told you as well.” 

“I don’t remember it,” she said with a shake of her head. “Old Nan wouldn’t tell us the very scary stories because Mother didn’t like that, remember?” 

“She hated that she told you about the Rat Cook,” he agreed. “ What is this about?” 

“I told you that the White Walkers are coming, that the Long Night is coming,” Arya said as she paced the length of the solar. “ I didn’t want to give too many details since the war came first but since there was nothing more I could do on that front I tried to read about them as much as I could, try and find something that I didn’t already know.” 

“I’ve written to the other houses,” Father interjected. “Winterfell hasn’t the best library and so far none have answered. I sent one to the Citadel as well.” 

“Oh that’s a good idea,” she said. Honestly, she probably should have thought about that as well. “I’m not finding anything here that I didn’t already know.” 

“Such as?” 

“That they can resurrect dead men and beasts. No iron or steel can harm them, only weapons of dragon glass and Valyrian steel.” 

“Dragon glass?” he questioned. “ I can understand valerian steel but dragon glass is so brittle. It couldn’t penetrate any armor enough to do real damage .” 

“You don’t need it too really. It’s not about dealing a killing blow, as long as you get the dragon glass inside it will kill them.” 

How lucky for them. Dragon glass was a brittle thing and if it hits anything; leather, bone or armor, it would either become dull or broken. Once it was you couldn’t sharpen it like steel since by the time you got the edge back, when it didn’t just break into a million pieces, it was too small to use. 

“But what does all this have to do about the Night’s King,” her father asked. “ That story is hundreds, if not a thousand years old. How could he be involved ?” 

“He leads the march,” Arya said as she finally sat down in a chair. “The Night King leads the first march into the south. He brings a huge army of White Walkers and wights with him.” 

“If it had anyone else that told me that I could call him a liar.” He leaned back in her chair with a sigh. “It’s hard to imagine what you tell me sometimes.” 

“I know,” she said softly. “But I’m glad you believe me anyway.” 

“But you didn’t know about the origin of the Night King before now,” he continued. “Why not? Surely someone could have told you? It is a common story.” 

“.....someone told us a different one. He told us that the Night King was the first of the White Walkers and that killing him would stop all of them. This was what I wanted to speak to you about because I can’t think of a reason why he would lie about this,” Arya said carefully. 

“This was someone who you trusted?”

“At the time.” 

“Men lie for many reasons,” he said with a shake of his head. He frowned as he thought it over. “For power and for greed. But the simplest is because he didn’t want you to know the truth.” 

“But why!” she growled. “What difference does it make?” 

“I don’t know,” he said. How could he when he died years before the Night King had come south? 

Arya huffed and settled into her chair. What reason could Bran have to lie to them? Had his indifference to them been that long? He’d been different when he became the three-eyed raven but to lie about something as important as the origin Night King? What reason could he have? Why hide that? He had told the truth about how killing him would destroy those he raised yet not that he wasn’t the first White Walker…. Bran hadn’t wanted them to know that the Night King wasn’t the start of it or even a White Walker at all. 

“That’s why killing the Night King didn’t do anything about the White Walkers,” Arya said suddenly. She sat up with wide eyes, blood rushing in her ears. “Killing the Night King didn’t do anything because he wasn’t the first. There were others out there from before the Night King was created. Why would he lie about that? If we had known-If I had known-” 

“Arya,” Ned said as soft as he could as he stood from his desk. “You need to calm down-” 

His voice was far away from her as the thoughts continued on and she spoke them aloud, “I thought it was all over, I left because I thought they were safe! But he had known the entire time! Known that they would regroup and march south again! Why else hide it?” 

“Arya,” her father tried to be stern. There was a time when her name spoken in that tone would freeze her in place but not now. 

“We could have taken the time to rebuild some of the Wall or maybe Sansa could have gotten aid faster. I wouldn’t have left Westeros if I had known….” The grief turned to rage, as it often did with her. “Damn him! I’ll kill him for this, I swear it! I’ll- ” 

Two hands grabbed her small shoulders and for a moment she went to reach for her weapons, so lost in her rage that she forgot that here and now she had none. 

“Slow down,” her father commanded. His voice was low and he spoke like he did when he had to order his men. “What are you talking about?” 

“He had known that killing the Night King wasn’t the end,” she hissed at him. “Why else lie about it? We believed him and all thought it done. When White Walkers started showing up again I thought it was because there were stragglers that had been far north or that the Night King had reformed because I had done something wrong. But there is no way he hadn’t known! Sansa died because he’d known and refused to send aid Winterfell!”

At the mention of Sansa’s death, which she’d taken care to not tell them until now, her father’s face grew grim. “Who? Who lied to you?”

“Bran, It was Bran,” Arya said. She scoffed with a shake of her head, “King Bran the Broken.” 

“What do you mean it was Bran?” he said confused and lost. “ Bran wouldn’t-” 

“He did,” she interrupted. 

Gods she was tried. The anger that she’d had for Ban was old now, it had been over two years since the fall of Winterfell and while it hadn’t left her it wasn’t something that burned in her. Too many other things to worry about, first at Moat Cailin and then Harrenhal. Being here, seeing him again had fanned it so she kept away from him. 

Now it boiled inside her again. 

“He’d been made king at the Dragon Pit meeting three years before the fall of Winterfell. The kingdom fell apart after and by the time I returned he only had the Riverlands and Westerlands,” she told her shocked father. “We all thought the White Walkers were done but wights started flowing south and before long it was too much. Sansa called for aid and all the others answered. Yet he refused.” 

“Bran ...sitting on the Iron Throne?” Her father took a step back, face pale. He covered his mouth as he took a few shaky breaths. “How? Why?” 

“I don’t really know how to explain that,” Arya answered truthfully. It had seemed to make so much sense at the time but now looking back she doesn’t know how it happened. Why Gray Worm allowed it or why Prince Quentyn voted in favor. She knew why Yara and Gendry had, Yara had wanted to bide her time and Gendry wanted to support her family. Robin Arryn wanted to do both. 

“He hadn’t been the same since he became the three-eyed raven,” she admitted. “He was cold and emotionless but I hadn’t thought that he would lie to us! He was still our brother above all that. Greenseer or not he is a Stark, damn him.” 

“Stop, stop,” Ned commanded again. “You mean to tell me that Bran is not only the king but he is also a greenseer? There are no Greenseers any longer.” 

“There is one, the one Bran called the three-eyed raven. He called Bran north of the wall and trained him to take his place. Afterwards he….he changed.” 

Never had she thought that he changed that much. How much of the war had he planned? With his powers alone he could have stopped so much of the death that followed. Sansa, Jon, Brienne, and Yara…. 

“He can’t fall,” she muttered. “No matter what happens he can’t fall. If he doesn’t fall then the three-eyed raven won’t find him.” 

“You are speaking nonsense-” 

Seven hells it was becoming annoying to explain things that had happened so long ago. “Bran got pushed out of a tower, it should have killed him. It didn’t, though he could never walk again after that. That was when the three-eyed raven started showing up in his dreams.” 

“What did this three-eyed raven do to him,” he asked. “What did he do to my son that he would let his sister, let his home, be destroyed?” 

“No one knows. He never spoke of it much and what little he did I no longer believe.” 

“Gods Arya,” Her father slumped over in his chair. “The more I hear about this future you lived the more horror fills me.” 

“I know,” she said. “I lived it after all.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in one day, please be proud of me


	11. Chapter 11

Moat Cailin Year 310 After The Conquest, Year 5 of Winter.

Arya held her wine better than others would think for a lady of her size. It took a lot to get her truly drunk, her body was immune to drugs and all matter of poison and really wine and mead could be counted as such. In order to get drunk she had to drink a lot and fairly quickly. 

She hadn’t really found it worth it to do so often. During her travels it was a rarey any way since her ship could only carry so much and she’d been much too busy since returning to Westeros. Here at Moat Cailin there was little to go around, though she had bottles given to her by the northern lords when they sent their men and supplies. Jon’s Wildling had brought some mead with them and had begun to make some in the little off time that they had. Her own knights had begun to trade for it; weapons, tools and other supplies. 

After an hour of tense talks with Queen Yara the Grayjoy had ordered mead in. She had enough brought for them both. The older woman had been surprising well behaved, besides the light insult towards Sansa. Brianna had taken offense but Arya had grown up with Theon and knew that the other woman hadn’t meant anything by it. The Greyjoy’s were similar in that way. Theon couldn’t ever give a compliment without a light insult. 

So far they had kept the conversation light as well, or as light as it could be during such a time. Yara had been sent by the worried Kings of the south and they wanted answers. So Arya told everything she knew. How many men she had, how much they had in their stores of food. In return Yara shared what she knew so far. 

Her cousin Robin was worried about food, the Vale was not known for being full of food after all. The area was much too mountainous for farming of the scale needed. They usually had enough to last through a winter, they had winters similar to the North’s so they knew how badly needed food stores could be. With so many of his men getting the Eyrie and other strongholds ready for winter and the White Walkers he was lacking men to farm and hunt. 

Luckily King Baelor was still shipping food out though for how long he would be able too was starting to be a concern. The Reach had lighter winters than most and in fact could grow some foods well into winter but not nearly enough for all his people, let alone all the other small kingdoms. 

“That’s what he wanted you to know,” Yara said after a long drink of her wine. “He is willing to keep feeding you and the others but as soon as Moat Cailin falls he’s shutting everything down. The only reason any of us are supporting each other is because if the White Walkers take out one of us it’s earlier for all of us to fall.” 

“Funny, I thought the Iron Islands never needed help from main landers. I’m surprised that your captains are trying to overthrow you over this,” Arya said with a snort. 

“My captions aren't fools, they know that they can’t survive without main landers, at least not for long. We do not sow sounds like a great idea until you relize what happens when you can’t reap any longer.”

She laughed, louder than she had in a while. “You’re fighting with us just so you can raid us later?” 

“Not the North if that makes you feel better. Your sister did give me a nice chunk of land. Not that I think I’ll be able to actually use it anytime soon but I would hate to piss off my neighbor.” 

“And I would hate to have to kill you,” Arya agreed. “Who would then bring me wine to keep my men from rioting?” 

“I think that Storm King would be more than willing,” Yara said with a smirk. “It took more than a couple of lords to keep him in his lands when he heard about you being crowned.” 

She rolled her eyes and took another drink, “Gentry knows better than to try to come up here. Traveling this far during a time like is foolish.” 

An eyebrow raised and Yara kicked her feet up on the table. “ Not what I expected….I heard you two were half a step on marrying during the Long Night.” 

Arya snorted into her cup and rolled her eyes again. “Do you often listen to old gossip, Queen Yara?” 

“Only when it involves women who threaten to kill me,” the older woman gave her the once over once again. This time it was with a different smirk than before, not to threaten but to show a hunger that Arya could plainly see. “And if said woman is as….wild as you are.” 

“Wild? Is that the best you can do?” She drown the last of her wine, “ No wonder the Ironborn have to raid to get their woman.” 

Yara stood, smooth and sure as Arya had ever seen her. That smirk had grown and her eyes were burning bright. Her voice was rougher now as she spoke, “Belive me, I’ve never had a complaint.” 

  
Winterfell in the year 298 After The Conquest, Year Ten of Summer.

Ned had known Robert Baratheon since they had been young boys. Both had been fostered by Jon Arryn in the Eyrie and both had loved the man as a father. He loved Robert as well , truly, as a bother. They had grown up together, from boys to men and Ned had followed him to war where they had fought at each other’s sides. That would never change even if it had been years since they had last seen each other. Ned so rarely left the North and even if he wanted to, which he wouldn’t since he’d never loved the north and it’s hard weather, Robert couldn’t take the time to travel all the way to Winterfell. 

Last they parted it was at the end of the Greyjoy's Rebellion and Theon waited aboard Ned’s ship to be taken to Winterfell so that he could live as a prisoner and hostage. Ned had clasped Robert’s arm and they had sent each other on their way, Ned to the North and him to the south. 

Arya had told them that Robert would not be any help, not only had he died well before the White Walkers came south, he had been a fat drunken king and she had no faith that he could be anything else. That image wasn’t one he could see, the man he’d seen at the Rebellion had been a warrior that few could match. His friend had welded his war hammer just as well then as he had on the trident.

It was now, as his family and household lined up to meet his king and friend that Ned had a sinking feeling that Arya was once again right. 

It wasn’t a warrior that he kneels before now. This man didn’t seem able to lift a war hammer or anything other than a table knife and had to heave himself off his horse. There were dark circles underneath his eyes and where he’d once been clean-shaven now Robert's beard was wild and thick like he hadn’t bothered to trim. Like he stopped caring what he looked like. Without Arya’s words maybe he could have pushed it off as Robert not being able too since he’d been on the road but the worry would not leave him. 

King Robert signaled for all to rise and for a moment they stared at each other before Ned dipped his head, “Your Grace.”

“You’ve gotten fat.” 

Ned glanced down but said nothing. 

Robert’s smile was the same and his laugh was as well as he pulled him into a hug. He hugged Cat with the same smile and a kiss to her cheek. The King patted Rickon on the head briefly before turning back to him. “It’s been years, why haven’t I seen you? Where the hell have you been?” 

“Guarding the North for you, Your Grace.” He nodded to his household around him and the stone walls of his home. “Winterfell is yours.”

The coach, which was huge and unnecessarily grand in his opinion, opened and Cersei gracefully stepped outside. The queen was dressed in gold and red, the furs around her neck were very fine. Truly this was a strikingly beautiful woman, with her hair of gold and her eyes of green but Arya’s words echoed in his mind. If she had her way his family would be dead, all of them crushed under her heel. 

Robert didn’t sense his mood darkening as he went to greet the children. “You must be Robb,” he said as he clasped hands with the boy. When he met Arya’s eyes he blinked in surprise but at what Ned didn’t know, “Your name is?”

“Arya,” she answered with a small bashful smile. 

How well his daughter hid. Just yesterday she had been in his solar ranting and swearing about her brother. 

They had decided to not tell Cat about what Bran had done. His wife loved her children greatly but to hear that one would refuse to send aid and it lead to their death would cause her too much pain. She was already not dealing with the news of Robb and Rickon very well. Hearing of Sansa’s death would only add to it. Ned was beginning to understand why Arya hadn’t told them everything, it was truly hard to hear. 

Cersei held out her hand in greeting and Ned hoped he kept the coldness out of his tone as he kissed the back of her hand, “My queen.” 

Her face as Catelyn then greeted her showed that some of it had. But perhaps that was not too out of the ordinary. Ned had never gotten along with the woman and he knew that she must hate traveling so far north. 

“Take me to your crypt,” his friend said sternly. He seemed annoyed that he had to even ask. “I want to pay my respects.” 

Here and in front of both their households Ned couldn’t say anything to him, he was a king first and friend second but by the gods; while Robert may have grown sideways he hadn’t grown up at all. Cersei may have been a cruel woman but she was still Robert’s wife and demanding to see the woman he was engaged to marry so long ago so loudly in front of her and in front of their hosts? 

Cersei gave him an out, “We’ve been riding for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait.” 

The king ignored her besides a glance and instead nodded to where the crypts lay, “Ned.”

The queen looked at Ned like it was his fault that her husband loved Lyanna Stark so long after she was gone. Knowing how much anger and hate the woman would or could, for his family it wouldn’t surprise him that this was where it started. The King’s stay was going to be much too long. 

“Tell me of Jon Arryn,” Ned asked as they entered the crypt. With Arya’s injury and then odd behavior, he hadn’t been able to truly deal with the news that the man had died. Truly losing him was an awful thing. It had been years since Ned had even seen him. Jon had gotten to the age where travel was hard and no doubt he’d been busy being Hand of the King. 

“One minute he was fine, and then …” Robert sighed deeply. “Burned right through him, whatever it was. I loved that man.” 

“We both did.” 

They walked past the King’s of Winter, with their stone swords and wolves, candles lighting their way. “He never had to teach you much, but me … You remember me at 16?” He laughed, “All I wanted to do was crack skulls and fuck girls. He showed me what was what.” 

“Aye,” Ned agreed. It had never stuck for very long. Jon had a soft spot for both of them, one that had only grown when Robert’s parents drowned and Ned’s own father was murdered. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Robert chuckled again. “Not his fault I didn’t listen.” He stopped for a moment before he sighed. 

He’d known this moment was coming ever since that letter had come and now here it was. The worst thing about it was that he knew now that this was the moment that had killed so many of his children. Robb, Cat, and Rickon all died from a war that only happened because he’d been Hand of the King. But in order to save them from the White Walkers, he needed to do this and hopefully without sparking a civil war this time. 

“I need you, Ned. Down at Kings Landing. Not up here, where you’re no damn use to anybody. Lord Eddard Stark, I would name you the Hand of the king.” 

He kneeled like it was an honor and not a death wish, “I’m not worthy of the honor.” 

“I’m not trying to honor you. I’m trying to get you to run my kingdom while I eat, drink, and whore my way to an early grave,” Robert pulled him back up, clasping him on the shoulder. “You helped me win the Iron Throne, now help me keep the damn thing. We were meant to rule together. If your sister had lived, we would have been bound by blood. Well, it’s not too late. I have a son, you have a daughter. We’ll join our Houses.” 

Ned shouldn’t have been surprised by that but he was. Hadn’t Arya said something about the Tyrell girl marrying Joffrey? But of course Joffrey wouldn’t have married Sansa by then, they had been at war with Robb, hadn’t they? 

“Sansa is to marry Ser Loras Tyrell,” he corrected quickly. Better not let the idea grow. Robert was a stubborn man and didn’t like to be told no. 

“You would have your daughter marry a third son instead of the heir prince?”He scoffed, “Don’t be foolish Ned.” 

“We’ve already written to Highgarden about it,” Ned said sternly. They should be getting a letter from them any day now. If they said no…. A worry for another time, Cat knew what she was doing. “I have no wish for Sansa to live in King’s Landing her entire life.” 

“She would be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,” Robert said with a frown. He shook his head in disbelief. “You would rather see your daughter a Tyrell than a Baratheon?” 

For a small moment Ned thought about pointing out just what had happened to the woman married to the last princess of the Seven Kingdoms but held back. He was blunt but sending Robert into a rage on his first day here wasn’t a good idea. “From what I understand the Knight of Flowers has done well for himself and is a courteous knight. Unless I find something to prove otherwise I won’t consider others while it’s still in the workings.” 

“What about your other one? The young one, Arya?” He asked with a rub of his chin. “A bit young but Tommen is near her age.” 

Ned shook his head at once. “Arya would eat that boy alive. I don’t think I’ll ever find a man strong enough to marry her,” he said truthfully. “That girl is all wolf blood, none of her mother in her at all.” 

The King took that refusal better than the other. “Tommen is a soft lad, he’d never be able to handle a true northern girl.” 

“She has her looks,” the king’s voice went softer than Ned had heard in years. 

Looking at Lyanna’s statue with him Ned knew that his friend was right. Sansa favored her mother so much that when Arya had been born he thought that in time she would as well. But instead sometimes it felt like he was seeing the past. Lyanna hadn’t always been the queen of love and beauty. When he’d been a boy she’d been much like Arya with legs and arms too long for her body. Both of his daughters' beauty was a large source of worry for him. 

Robert carefully brought a feather from his vest. It was beautiful, not bent or broken and it still had shine in the candle fire. “Did you have to bury her in a place like this?,” he said as he ran a knuckle carefully down the statue’s cheek. She should be on a hill somewhere with the sun and the clouds above her.” 

Ned had long known that if Lyanna was alive she would be angry with him about her resting place. Not it being in the crypt, for she was a Stark no matter what had happened to her, but that Ned would dare give her a statue when only Kings of the North and Lords of Winterfell had before. Tradition was that only he as Lord would receive one but his brother should have been Lord and his sister had died so far from home. Having one thing to remember her face by was worth the break in tradition. 

“She was my sister,” he reminded him. “This is where she belongs.” 

The king said nothing, too busy staring at his lost love. How easy Robert forgets that Lyanna was more than his betrothed. 

“She belonged with me,” he whispered. His voice became a growl and Ned heard the man who they called the Demon of the Trident.“In my dreams, I kill him every night.” 

Robert’s temper had always been there, ever since he’d been a boy. But this rage was different, it had never slowed and only seemed to grow. Rhaegar Targaryen had long since been broken under his hammer and Robert had seen his wife and young children laid before him in blood soaked cloaks and still he rages. 

“It’s done, Your Grace. The Targaryens are gone.” Ned said slowly. Was this a lie? Arya had spoken of the younger Daenerys very briefly and hadn’t spoken of Viserys at all. Was Robert right in fearing them when he knew that in a few years time there would be dragons in this world again?   
  
“Not all of them,” he said. With a sigh Robert turned away. “Come on Ned, I believe I have a feast to enjoy.” 

Said feast thankfully started off fine, although it was louder than he’d thought it would be. Robert even behaved himself or he did until the wine started flowing. After his second cup the king began to get louder and louder, laughing at any serving girl that came his way. All of the King’s party soon began acting the same way but he wasn’t surprised. THe men had been traveling for a month now after all. 

Robert acting that way in front of his men with his wife, his queen, at his side….No wonder the woman had begun to hate him. He thanked the Gods that Cat hadn’t hated him for Jon, as would have been her right. His wife was a forgiving woman but Cersei wasn’t. 

With half an eye on Robert and the other on the table below Ned kept watch. His wife no doubt was as well but she had the task of handling the over all room and trying to play host to the queen. A task they both hated but had to follow. So all night he’d watched as they enjoyed the rare feast. Rickon had already been put to bed, Robb and Theon were laughing as they drank their watered down wine, Sansa was talking with Jeyne Poole, Bran trying to join in because Robb had made it clear that he was too young and Arya was….

“Where is Arya ?” He asked Cat. “Last I looked she was by Sansa.” 

Cat turned away from her stained conversion with Cersei with a small frown. “I don’t know.” After a moment of hesitation she leaned over to whisper in his ear, “Did she tell you anything?” 

“Nothing for tonight,” Ned muttered back. Worry gripped him. Arya hadn’t told him anything that was true but that rage that burned inside her… He’d only seen what had boiled over so how much was she still hiding? She had clearly said that she wished for people to be dead and from the words she had said it seemed like Arya wanted to kill them herself. 

Ned stood and pressed a kiss to his wife’s cheek, her own worry now clear on her face. “I’m sure it’s fine,” he said. “I’m sure it’s nothing but I’ll go look for her.” He dipped his head in farewell to the Queen, who was as deep in her cups as her husband but nowhere near as loud. He didn’t bother trying to do the same with Robert, the King wasn’t paying him any mind. 

Winterfell rarely had such large feasts like this so all of his household were enjoying themselves. The hall was packed, laughter ringing out all round them. Happy as he was for them he truly didn’t enjoy these huge things. 

“You at a feast -- It’s like a bear in a trap,” said a voice off to his side. 

“There you are Benjen,” Ned said as he clasped his brother's arm. “I thought you were going to miss the feast.” 

His younger brother was wearing a smile as he always did when the Watch allowed him to visit his home. “And miss you having to deal with all these southerns? I wouldn’t miss it!” 

He pulled his brother off to the side so they could talk without having to yell over all the half drunk men in the hall. It had been some time since Benjen came south, he was First Ranger and so spent much of the time north of the Wall. The king’s visit was enough, Robert hadn’t seen Benjen since he was a boy. And while Robert had never thought of the Night’s Watch before, or anthing over than fucking and wine, having the First Ranger here may be enough to get Robert to at least think about sending more gold their way. 

“The boy I beheaded,” Ned said low so the cheering people around them couldn’t hear, “Did you know him?”

“Of course I did,” Benjen said with a hint of sadness. “Just a lad. But he was tough, Ned. A true Ranger.” 

“Were you surprised that he would flee south?” 

“Yes, the lad had taken the black over four years ago,” his brother said slowly. He was no doubt wondering why Ned cared to ask as he had never before. “Usually if they try it’s in the first year. Will was one of our best rangers, I’d taken him on damn near hundred ranging missions myself.”

Arya hadn’t spoken much about her uncle and Ned was afraid to ask. That the White Walker would march south no doubt meant that the NIght’s Watch had met them in battle at least once. He could only hope that his brother had died bravely and with honor. He’d long had known that Benjen would not die of old age. 

But if Ned could add years to his brother's life while helping add manpower to the Night’s Watch…. 

“Do you remember what we spoke of the last time you were here? Of rising lords in the Gift?” 

Benjen looked confused by the change of topic but nodded. “Aye, but you said you wanted to wait for winter to pass before doing it. Mormont is still insisting that they pay tax to the Watch instead of Winterfell but he likes the idea.” 

“That boy spoke of madness. He was almost mad with fear himself. Said the Walkers slaughtered his friends. Direwolves south of the wall. Talk of the Walkers. I’m to be the next Hand to the king,” Ned scoffed. So many signs of the madness to come. How had he not seen it before? 

“You say that as if you believe him.” His brother looked so much like their father with his face so siris. 

“I can not tell you everything,” Ned admitted. Arya’s….condition was hers to tell. But warning the Night’s Watch couldn’t have any harm. “But know that when I go to King’s Landing I will do everything in my power to send the help that the Night’s Watch needs. Cat will do the same from here.” 

“What is it that you think we will be facing?” Benjen asked slowly. 

“Winter. Winter is coming brother and I will have Winterfell ready to face it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for some reason all the chapters got fucked up, there was three of ch8 and I think ch9 was missing and it was just a fucking mess. So any and all chapter notes from before this chapter are mixed up. Sorry :(


End file.
